


The Name of the Game

by FaultlessFinish, shrack



Series: Knowing Me, Knowing You (aka the Wrightiverse) [1]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: ABBA is very good and Glenn is missing out, M/M, Robin considers himself bi and Glenn’s sexuality is ‘what are you a cop?’, Short king Glenn forever in our hearts, a new dad enters the ring, and don't listen anymore, and only incorporates what we saw through about episode 10 or so, because i definitely don't wanna be held responsible for whatever he's up to these days, god bless soft doms, idiots to lovers, not NOT a bdsm fanfic, not exactly enemies to lovers but first impressions can be tough, other dads appear briefly but not enough that they need a tag, probably easiest to think of this Glenn as an OC who's loosely based on the dndads guy, some medium level mentions of panic attacks and trauma reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:20:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22380187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaultlessFinish/pseuds/FaultlessFinish, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shrack/pseuds/shrack
Summary: A story about the Close boys and their next-door neighbors.(Other dads appear a bit, eventually.)
Relationships: Glenn Close/Original Character
Series: Knowing Me, Knowing You (aka the Wrightiverse) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1616062
Comments: 79
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit up wrightiverse.tumblr.com for art, more writing from this world, memes, and pg-13 cuts of both Name of the Game and Somewhere In The Crowd There's You
> 
> this is a story with mature scenes as part of the overall larger story - we'll indicate when a chapter contains those. this first chapter is one with a mature scene at the end.

**_Robin_ **

When Robin had picked a building for his first post-divorce apartment, he was happy that there were other families around. Not that his teenaged son Connor was going to be riding bikes with the neighborhood kids, but it seemed like a good sign that there was another single dad down the hall. 

It was not, as it turned out, a good sign. 

He hadn’t really expected Connor would become best friends with Nick Close or anything, not with Nick being five years younger. But he would never have guessed that Connor would end up spending so much time with Glenn Close, who was twenty-odd years older and therefore chronologically counted as a grown-ass man. 

Robin is about 98% sure that it all started when Glenn started buying weed from Connor. (Not Robin’s favorite phase of Connor’s entrepreneurial experiments.) Then one day he’d looked up and seen Connor heading out with a bag full of cleaning supplies. “He lives like a goblin, so I’m gonna make some walking-around money. And maybe this way he won’t get tetanus.” 

That was at age 16. Picking up groceries was a logical next step from cleaning, taking care of bills while Glenn was on tour made sense, etc., etc. Connor was always transparent about what he was doing with the money, he was organized, he stayed out of trouble. Glenn never seemed to care when Connor would take over another aspect of his life and add it to the tab. Now at age 18, Connor is about to graduate as valedictorian, is accepted to several damn good schools, and has a robust college fund from basically running their neighbor’s life for several years. Those are all good things, right? So why does Robin feel like he went wrong somewhere?

Part of why he didn’t put a stop to it sooner is Glenn’s son, Nick. Glenn’s career meant he was often gone and Nick bounced between caretakers. Connor could be relied on to help with homework and make sure Nick had a good lunch to take to school. Robin knew Nick wouldn’t exactly be neglected if he told Connor to detach himself from the Closes, but he had to admit the finer aspects of the kid’s quality of life would probably suffer. 

Connor’s so good with Nick. It’s pretty sweet how the younger boy tries to do a good job on his homework for the sake of impressing his cool babysitter. Given that - and since he can’t figure out how to get past “it’s not unsavory or harmful, it’s just kinda weird” - Robin’s never said anything about it. Pretty soon Connor will be off at college, and the whole Glenn Close situation will resolve naturally. No need to start a fight over it during this last summer. 

He’s hoping they can get a little time together tonight. Connor’s been helping promote a band, and he got Robin a comp ticket, with the warning that he was likely to be pretty busy. At the time, Robin was all reassurances about how he’d be fine, and he’d love to see this band, and whatever time they got together would be great, kiddo. Now he’s standing in a much bigger venue than he expected, holding a mediocre whiskey sour, and dealing with the sinking realization that the musical act in question is their neighbor’s band.

“Connor, I thought this was going to be a high school band.” 

Connor is baffled. “Dad, why would I help promote some shitty high school band?”

“Please don’t curse,” Robin says automatically as Connor gets distracted by a roadie with a box of merch. He’s left standing alone, takes a swig of his drink, grimaces. It’s going to be a long night. 

**_Glenn_ **

By the time the show ends, Glenn is almost more excited to get into the crowd and mingle with fans than he is to be on the stage any longer than he needs to be. Him and the other two members of the Glenn Close Trio are never exactly on the best terms. On nights they have moderately successful gigs, they're at their most functional — Glenn doesn't want to push them any closer to kicking him out. He puts his nondescript guitar back in its sticker-covered case backstage, and pats Connor on the shoulder as the kid swings through to check on the company that hauls their instruments away. Glenn doesn't know where they go, and doesn't care to find out, and he watches as Connor talks to some woman Glenn doesn't recognize. Good kid. Hot woman. He casts her a wink when she makes eye contact, grabs his cardigan off a table, and heads out into the main part of the bar.

A good portion of his time is spent collecting drinks at the bar. He doesn’t question whoever decides to buy him one, which time and again Nick has reminded him is a bad way to go about his life. As he slams a random shot (he thinks it’s tequila, but he’s not sober enough to scope that out), he scans the area for someone particularly intriguing. Aside from the usual suspects, nothing piques his interest. There are a couple of fish out of water: a group of punks who have wildly misunderstood what a Glenn Close Trio concert entails, someone with a literal infant child, and a businesswoman who seems to have gotten trapped at the bar by the sudden crowd. She has her head in both of her hands, and she is staring at a wet cocktail glass so hard, Glenn is sure she’ll explode it with her mind. He only realizes the woman next to him has been talking to him as he dismisses himself — that is, to say, he just pushes himself away from her and through the crowd toward the businesswoman.

“Rough night?” he shouts over the music as he approaches, and the woman startles a bit, but laughs.

“You could say that again.”

“Rough night?”

She laughs, and for five minutes, Glenn is hopeful. Some good vibes, a story about her day, whatever. But the conversation takes a turn for the boring as hell, and he finds himself glancing around when she’s not looking for a way out. He’s not a complete animal, he knows how to pretend he’s listening to this random woman’s work problems, but the alcohol in his body is more conducive to, say, dancing with someone or making out in a weird, dark alley. 

Connor appears again, this time shouldering one of their t-shirts. Glenn reaches out to grab his forearm, and the boy stops dead in his tracks.

“You stealin’ from us?” Connor looks at him with a bemused grin.

“It’s not stealing if I print the shirts,” Connor replies quickly, and Glenn can’t really argue with that logic. Glenn watches as Connor pushes through the crowd and heads toward his father, who Glenn didn’t even know was here at all. He’s seen Connor’s dad around, it’s almost impossible not to run into his neighbor when his son is regularly in the Close household. And he can’t remember his name to save his life. He’s definitely got one. Jim? Steven. Gerald. He seems like a Gerald. Real stick in the mud, that Gerald. It’s amazing he has a cool kid. Mom must be really something to cancel those genes out. He should ask Connor about getting her number, he’s pretty sure they’re divorced. 

Speaking of the kid, it’s only a few minutes before he’s back in front of Glenn. He thinks it’s really unfair of a kid twenty years his junior to be so much taller than him. Glenn has cooler hair, though.

“I’m sending you home with my dad,” he says over the music, and Glenn tilts his head back to groan.

“You serious?”

“It’s a free Lyft, and you’re going to the same place. You’d rather wait until we’re done loading the van?”

Free is good. Free sounds like he can deal with boring old Mr. Connor’s Dad for a little bit. Connor returns the shoulder pat from earlier, and then disappears into the crowd. 

“It was nice chatting, bloke,” Glenn says towards the woman, and pushes himself off the bar to find Connor’s dad. He hears a loud “What?” behind him, but just figures that’s her realizing that he was the smoking hot lead singer of the band the whole time.

**_Robin_ **

By the time the show is over, Robin can tell he should have stopped two drinks ago. It’s not at all his scene, and Connor had to keep disappearing to handle various crises, leaving Robin alone with his drink. Live music is barely his cup of tea at the best of times, and this is pretty far from those. 

He’s standing outside the bar, summoning a Lyft, when Connor bounds up and gives him a big hug. “Thanks for coming out, Dad.” 

_When did Connor get so damn tall?_ Robin thinks. It’s just genetics, really, but it feels like last he checked, his son was about waist high and needed help tying his shoes. He indulges himself in holding the hug for an extra beat, then lets Connor go, since the kid’s obviously buzzing with energy and probably has seven different places he needs to be. 

Connor nods at the phone in his father’s hand. “Are you going home?”

“Yeah, do you want a ride?”

“No, I’ve still got stuff to take care of. I’m going to send Glenn home with you, since you’re going to the same place. Hold up, I’ll be right back. This is for you.” He hands something to Robin and elbows his way through the crowd. 

“Thanks, kiddo.” Robin looks down and sees that he’s now holding a Glenn Close Trio t-shirt. Fantastic. A t-shirt with a logo on it finally sneaks into his wardrobe and it’s for a band he would never voluntarily listen to, named after and led by their feckless neighbor. And Connor gave it to him, so he’s going to love it and cherish it. Goddammit. 

Robin bites his lip as the man himself, Glenn Close, slouches out of the crowd with that smug rockstar attitude all over him. It’s such a pain in the ass when people know they’re attractive. He’s wearing his leather pants and black t-shirt from the show, but has thrown on a long cardigan and some sunglasses despite the late hour. Robin contemplates pretending that the ride fell through, but the driver is about to pull up and he doesn’t have the heart to stiff them on the fare, so away they go. At least it won’t take too long if traffic isn’t bad. 

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn makes his way through the crowd and toward the front door to find the other man. Behind his sunglasses, he shamelessly checks out Connor’s dad’s whole vibe. He’s dressed like someone forced him to be casual - scarily new jeans, the world’s most boring blue shirt, _sneakers_. The raw DILF material is there, being squandered - tall, fit, still has all his hair. With a style upgrade and the removal of the stick that’s clearly up his ass, this guy could be going home with one of the promising prospects that Glenn’s scouted already at the bar. (After Glenn made his own selection, obviously.) Instead, Steven or whatever is looking like he only listens to music at gunpoint, fussing with his phone and finding the car that's supposed to pick them up. He hopes he at least didn’t get one of those shitty Lyft XLs.

Traffic is, of course, bad, and it seems like Connor’s dad has never spoken in his life. Glenn appreciates a quiet car ride, don’t get him wrong. But whatever he’s done to rub ol’ whats-his-face the wrong way is making the energy all weird; Glenn’s bouncing his knee absently as he looks out the window at the standstill traffic, and finally huffs out a frustrated sigh.

“I just don’t understand traffic. It’s just like,” he gestures through the front window at the red lights, “keep driving, you know?”

The man counters that no, that’s not how anything works, and Glenn’s completely convinced that this man was put on this Earth to disagree with everything he’s ever said. Glenn keeps going with his point, states some pretty valid sources of people rubbernecking at an accident or one old grandma with a deathwish slowing everyone down on the 5, but Bartholomew is not having it at all.

“See, this is what I mean! Your vibe is atrocious.”

“My vibe,” Connor’s dad deadpans.

Glenn flaps a hand at him. “Your whole aura. Disgusting.”

“You’re right, I clearly should recalibrate my _aura_ to impress a guy who buys weed from teenagers.”

“Not sure how Connor selling weed is my fault,” Glenn shoots back. “Parent your kid next time, maybe.” 

**_Robin_ **

Traffic is, of course, very bad. For the first five minutes, they sit in silence. Then Glenn, who seems to be allergic to quiet, starts chatting. Chatting turns into him pestering Robin about his allegedly bad “vibe,” which turns into them arguing about Connor. Robin knows it’s a discussion they should have either had years ago or skipped entirely, but it’s been a long night and he’s tired and tipsy and on his last nerve.

He finally, finally calls Glenn out over buying weed from Connor and it immediately gets turned back on him. “Parent your kid next time, maybe,” Glenn says, hitting Robin straight on the exposed nerve of his worry about all the things Connor does. Particularly the stuff that Robin only suspects, but can’t prove, and is too scared to ask Connor about. It’d be so much easier to blow it off Glenn didn’t have a point...

They’ve arrived at the apartment building and Glenn punctuates his comment by getting out and slamming the car door. Robin feels the heat rising up the back of his neck as he follows Glenn into the building. He shouldn’t say it, he shouldn’t say anything, but he wants to push back and get some of this poison out of him. “Parent my kid? That is fucking rich coming from you.” 

**_Glenn_ **

As soon as Glenn can get out of the car, he does, and flinches a little as he slams the car door harder than he should have. He makes quick work of heading toward the elevator of the building, and every step and word he hears behind him only makes him angrier. “Parent my kid? That is fucking rich coming from you,” snaps Mr. Accusatory.

The implication that Glenn doesn’t parent his kid makes him start slapping the elevator button to try and get it to come quicker. In an ideal world, it would open and close so fast, big boy wouldn’t be able to get in behind him. That obviously isn’t the case, because he grabs Glenn’s arm away from the button. “That doesn’t do anything, would you please stop?”

The elevator dings as it arrives and slides open, and Glenn tugs his arm back to get in. He dedicates himself to the corner and folds his arms over his chest. Doesn’t parent his kid. Nick grew up to be better than he could have ever dreamed, what’s this dude even talking about? Just because he hangs out with his son, that makes him a bad father? Glenn stares holes into his shoulder, thinks of every way he can diss his ass to next Sunday. Of course, the insults would have more weight if he remembered his name. Fuck it, he decides as the elevator doors slide open and he pushes past to get out, Tall Dad doesn’t deserve to have a name.

**_Robin_ **

As they step out into the hallway, Robin feels the need to assert some control in this situation. So he makes a stupid decision. He grabs Glenn by the arm, pulls him in close, and rips those damn sunglasses straight off his infuriating face. If this guy’s going to insult him to his face, he can at least make eye contact while he does it.

Glenn’s eyes take a second to focus and Robin realizes that he’s not the only one who’s slightly drunk. “Don’t stop now,” Glenn murmurs, and suddenly Robin realizes that Glenn is the opposite of intimidated. His pupils are dilated, his lips are parted, his body is relaxed. And he’s looking up at Robin with a very dangerous expression. 

**_Glenn_ **

It takes Glenn a moment to adjust to the bright lights of the hallway. The manhandling is frankly more hot than intimidating, and it occurs to him that this might be a salvageable situation. He looks at the hand on his arm and contemplates his options. If he presses the right buttons, if he says a few more words, this could go one of two ways. One, Hot Dad thinks he’s insane and he leaves, never to be seen again, or two, they can ride this vibe into some incredible hate sex. Last call. Worth a shot. 

Come on, Glenn thinks. You want this. Whatever anger is still in him has shifted into confidence in his own abilities, and he mentally _Breakfast Club_ fist pumps when Hot Dad surges forward to kiss him hard.

**_Robin_ **

Robin starts out rough, just needing to shut that infuriating mouth up. But before long he finds himself slowing down and exploring, noticing what makes Glenn arch into him and his breath come faster. His grip on Glenn’s arms releases and he holds Glenn’s jaw gently with one hand, steadying him as he tastes him. He’s trying not to get ahead of himself, but the way Glenn follows even the slightest of his cues is very promising. He found Glenn attractive when he was being a pain in the ass, so Glenn being willing and eager is pretty much irresistible.

He finally pulls himself away with a gasp. Glenn reaches up to touch his own swollen mouth, gives Robin a provocative glance. “My place is closer.” 

“By about twenty feet,” Robin grumbles, but he follows Glenn to his door anyway. 

They don’t make it to the bedroom, the first time. They stumble together into the dark living room, silver-lit by the streetlamps outside. The kisses from earlier have devolved into hungry mouths on each others’ throats, necks, collarbones. Robin has to grab Glenn’s head to hold him still long enough to kiss him properly.

Glenn, the scrappy little bastard, twists loose of Robin’s grip somehow and pushes him so that he falls back onto the couch. He’s on his knees and running his hands up the inside of Robin’s thighs before Robin can quite process what’s even happening. Then he does realize what’s happening, and he knows he’s lost the upper hand, but can’t quite bring himself to care. 

He groans as Glenn roughly unbuttons his pants and mouths at the fabric of his underwear, then pulls it aside and goes straight to work. It’s sloppy and fast and Robin’s going to last about thirty seconds if they don’t slow things down a bit. He can’t bring himself to totally put on the brakes, though, and settles for grabbing Glenn’s head tightly by the hair and setting his own, slower pace. Glenn submits to his grip with a satisfied groan and relaxes into his hold. 

About three separate trains of thought are racing around Robin’s head as this all goes on. One’s noting he’s never gone to bed with someone so fast in his entire life. One’s still trying to figure out what to do with the adrenaline of the argument. And one, which is absolutely winning every race between the three, is telling him never to stop what’s he’s doing right at that moment. 

Glenn’s mouth feels otherworldly and his expression is doing very intense things to Robin. How can somebody look so confident, so self-satisfied, when they’re on their knees like this? It’s a look that says, _we both know who’s really in control here._ Robin loosens his grip and Glenn takes his cue to speed up. “I’m--” he gasps out. He can’t speak, but Glenn gets the message and clutches him closer instead of pulling away.

As Robin’s head clears, he realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s been impulsive, selfish, immature. He’s thrown around this man he barely knows, yelled at him, barged into his home and done ill-advised and underprotected things to him. The lovely afterglow is getting wiped out quickly by guilt. “Glenn,” he says, and the name sounds strange. He’s not sure he’s ever said this man’s name directly to him before, and that’s a hell of a realization in this situation. “I’m so sorry. I have no idea how this happened. We shouldn’t have done that. I should leave. I’m so sorry.” 

“Shut up,” Glenn says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “That was to take the edge off. You’re wound tight as hell. Now get in the bedroom, I’m not done with you yet.” 


	2. Chapter 2

_**Robin** _

Some hours later, Robin wakes up when the sun gets through a crack in the curtains and slaps him in the face. He sits up quietly and looks himself over in the mirror. Of course, Glenn has a mirror right next to his bed. Robin’s hair is pointed in every direction. His body is strewn with scratches and bite marks. He smells like sweat and worse. An outside observer would probably conclude that he fought a raccoon last night. And lost. 

Oh God. He has to get home before Connor does. He might already be too late. 

For a brief panicked moment, Robin contemplates getting out onto Glenn’s balcony, jumping over to his, and getting into the apartment that way. No, that’s insane. He’s not John McClane evading Hans Gruber, he’s a 47 year old man who bicycles to work and spends his days deciding optimal placement of high-visibility crosswalks. Falling to his death in an attempt to avoid a twenty-foot walk of shame would be a very stupid way to go. 

He searches around on the floor for his clothes. He can find pants and shoes, but the only shirt that turns up is the Glenn Close Trio t-shirt that Connor gave him at the gig last night. He pulls it on and there’s a three inch gap between its bottom hem and the waist of his pants. Excellent. Now he looks like a middle-aged groupie for a Christmas rock band. 

The eternal debate - should he wake Glenn up, or just sneak out? He’s sleeping like the dead, as far as Robin can tell, and something tells him that waking Glenn up probably wouldn’t lead to butterfly kisses and pancakes from scratch. Robin decides that whatever discussion the two of them may need to have about all this, it can wait until they’ve showered and had coffee. Or never, they could also just never discuss it, he thinks with a guilty twinge. 

Anyway, Glenn is not his most pressing problem this morning, at least directly. Getting past Connor is. 

Robin makes his way quietly out of Glenn’s place, down the hall, carrying his shoes. He lets himself in the front door of his own apartment with extreme caution, listening for hints of activity. He sets his shoes down quietly in the front hall, grabs a sweater to cover up his ridiculous outfit, and cautiously edges into the living room. Through the open archway to the left, he can see Connor at the kitchen table, working on his laptop. He looks obnoxiously well-rested. The maddening resilience of youth. 

There’s no way to get to the other side of the apartment, where a shower and clean clothes await, without passing through Connor’s field of vision. However, given the layout of the apartment, Robin could be coming from the office. It wouldn’t be totally unprecedented for him to get up and do some work from home on a weekend morning. He might get away with this. He wraps the sweater around himself and strolls in. “Hey kiddo, good morning.”

“Morning.” Connor is focused on whatever he’s working on, but grabs and squeezes his dad’s hand briefly as he goes by. “So, you liked the concert last night?” 

“Mmhmm.” Robin tries to keep his back to Connor, like he just happens to be very focused on getting his coffee. Getting his coffee on his way from the office, where he had a good reason to be, to the bedroom, where he definitely was all night. Alone. Sleeping.

“I know it’s not your kind of music, but they’re pretty good.”

“Yeah, for sure.” Robin sidles toward the door.

“What happened to your neck?” Connor asks casually, and Robin freezes. “Did you try to pick up a stray cat or something?” 

Connor is looking at his laptop again, so he presumably doesn’t see the fear in his father’s eyes as he tries to come up with something. Then Connor’s chill demeanor cracks ever so slightly as his mouth twitches into an evil grin. “You should probably put some ointment on that. You don’t know where that thing’s been.” 

The panic of finding a plausible excuse is swiftly replaced with the panic of realizing that Connor has not been fooled for a second. Robin tries to sip the coffee to buy time and only succeeds in burning his mouth. 

“Connor, I… do you want to talk about...“

“Oh God, no,” Connor says. “Please go take a shower and never speak of this to me.” The fear in his eyes is real. Robin may be busted, but he has the upper hand when it comes to potential mortification. He decides to press his advantage and adopts an earnest tone.

“Because making love is a beautiful thing that adults—“

“No, no no no, no,” Connor chants to drown him out, slamming his laptop closed and hurrying out of the kitchen. “I said nothing. I saw nothing. I don’t know you. Please leave my home.” 

**_Glenn_ **

When parents talk about playing games with their kids, they usually imply that they let their kid win to encourage growth or whatever. Glenn, however, thinks this is just an excuse for parents to accept defeat gracefully, and children should be _challenged_. Letting Nick win at Smash _once_ would boost that kid's ego so far through the roof, Glenn would never be able to get it back.

He has to admit though, he's getting pretty good. Nick's a close second more often than not, and it makes Glenn proud. Glenn is a man of many mains—he switches it up not only to keep Nick on his toes, but to push himself toward learning all the characters. Could be a useful party trick. You never know.

After a particularly rough match between Mr. Game and Watch (Glenn) and Ike (Nick), Glenn slumps back on the couch and glances at the time.

"D'you want to do anything today?"

Nick hums as he picks the next stage. Once selected, he looks over at Glenn. He's got that competitive look in his eye. The eye of the _tiger_. It reminds Glenn of his younger self, and his chest swells proudly.

"After this round, can we make a song?"

Their band, lovingly called the Glenn Close Duo—Nick's idea through and through, Glenn wanted to give it a more subtle name—doesn't make any appearances outside of their home. Glenn records every session they have together. Songs from the early days of Nick's drumming career are nearly unlistenable, but Glenn refuses to delete any of them. It documents their _journey._ Even if that journey means Glenn's gonna have to warn their neighbors about the noise for a bit.

"Of course we can."

Nick grins, and turns back to the TV.

"But you have to do your homework first."

Nick groans. "Who said I haven't done it already?"

"Come on man, you've been pulling the same con for your entire school career. Look, I get the appeal of rushing to fill in the answers before the teacher collects the worksheet. But you're never gonna learn like that."

Despite the lecture, Glenn is kicking Nick's ass on the screen. Nick nearly throws the controller when Marth gets hit by a car and knocked off the track.

"Why do you care? You didn't go to college."

Glenn pauses the game and turns to stare at Nick. Nick immediately looks apologetic.

"I'm sorry, it's the game talking—"

"You have to do it, because you're smarter than I ever was." Glenn's gone through this before, and he's never _liked_ putting this kind of pressure on his son, but he means it from the bottom of his heart. "I want you to be the best at whatever you want to be when you grow up, and if that means some old dude forces you to do history homework, then you'll do it."

"And if I end up deciding college isn't for me, it's completely my choice," Nick parrots, like he's heard this lecture a million times. "I know, Dad. Thanks."

When the game starts back up, Glenn lets Nick get two kills in. He still wins, though. Gotta keep the boy humble somehow.

Despite a general distaste for interacting with neighbors—it’s the reason Hot Neighbor Whose Name Escapes Him slid under his radar for so long, having Connor was more than enough neighborly service—Glenn shoots a text to the required parties. The group chat was formed by his upstairs neighbor Enrique after a particularly angry Glenn Close Duo rehearsal. The other numbers have never gotten saved in Glenn’s phone. 

As Nick warms up on his drum set, one of the Trio’s old kits that was growing dust in their basement, Glenn fusses with the recording equipment.

“Got any ideas?”

Nick spins a drumstick. “Not really. I’m just bored with the school band and their boring ass sheet music.”

Once Glenn starts recording, he grabs his guitar out of its case and slings it on. “I’ll follow your lead.”

Every time they do this together, Nick looks surprised that Glenn lets him lead. Glenn assumes that it comes with the territory of looking up to a musician your whole life. If his own dad was an actual sick-ass musician instead of... well. Who knows where he’d be now.

His hands move on the guitar, but he’s not really paying attention. He thinks, as Nick looks at him for permission for a drum solo, about a conversation he once had with some of the other soccer parents.

They probably didn’t mean to guilt Glenn into not spending time with his son, but it certainly came across that way. Talking about their kids like they’re on a pedestal, they’re untouchable _things_ to guide forward like lambs to the slaughter.

“I just try to hang out with Nick.”

Some soccer mom stared at him. “How so?”

“We just hang out, dude, I dunno. He’s cool as hell.”

It was like calling your son cool has never been done in recent human history.

But Nick is truly, utterly cool. Not because he likes things that Glenn likes, or wears a leather jacket more often than not. Glenn actively finds himself _wanting_ to hang with Nick. To see him grow up and be successful, yes, but hang out with him like he’s just another friend.

As he refocuses on the song, Nick grinning at him as his entire body works across the drumset, Glenn makes sure to return the smile. One of the sticks flies from Nick’s hand and clacks against the wall behind him; Glenn is completely beside himself. Throws his head back in laughter, arms wrapped around his stomach, tears streaming down his cheeks. If he laughed like this at anyone else, they’d hate him. (It’s happened.) Nick, though, is cackling along with him, and gets up to end the recording.

**_Robin_ **

Robin’s thoughts run in a very small circle for the rest of the weekend. 

First, he feels guilty about being so rude to Glenn. Even if he was tipsy and provoked, he knows better than that. He’s mishandled all this about as badly as he could have, and made things very awkward with a neighbor, Connor’s employer, even Connor by extension. He and Connor have already talked the weed thing to death, and Glenn has a point about where responsibility for that one probably lies. Admittedly, it’d be nice if he could trust other adults in Connor’s orbit to be good examples, but it might be a bit much to ask from a guy like Glenn. 

Once he’s maximized his fretting about that, he moves on to feeling absolutely terrible about grabbing Glenn’s arm and taking off his sunglasses. Admittedly, people have used more force against him at Trader Joe’s when trying to get to the pre-made salads, but still, he’s not that guy. Particularly given that Glenn’s about eye level with his collarbone. It’s hardly a fair fight and he doesn’t want it to be a fight at all. 

And then he starts thinking about the kiss that came afterward, and what came next, and he has to start mentally reciting load tolerances for retaining walls to calm down before he has to go jerk off in the bathroom. Again. Either way, once his head clears a bit, he circles back to feeling guilty about being rude, and the whole thing starts over again, and nothing is getting done. 

He needs a plan. He needs to apologize. 

He needs an excuse to go over there. 

Robin waits until Connor’s at the gym that evening, then gathers his nerves. He knocks on Glenn’s door and waits for what seems like a very long time. Finally, Glenn opens the door, distractingly shirtless. He looks Robin up and down.

“I’m into it, man, but you should probably text first next time to see if I’m home. I travel a lot.”

Robin has already lost track of how he planned to handle this conversation. “What? No?” The apologies he had prepared are forgotten. He searches for something to say. “I left my shirt here… the other day.” 

Glenn rubs his nose with the back of his hand and shrugs. “Don’t think so, sorry.” 

“It’s a blue shirt,” Robin hears himself say inanely. Nailed it. Very smooth.

“Okay,” Glenn says. “Did you want to come in, or…”

“I can’t,” Robin blurts. Glenn raises his eyebrows. Robin searches for something else to say. “Do you want to have dinner?”

“I always want to have dinner,” Glenn says. They stare at each other in mutual incomprehension. 

“With me,” Robin finally says. “Tomorrow night. I can pick you up at seven? I think Connor can probably hang out with Nick, if you want. I’ll ask.”

Glenn eyes him suspiciously. “Okay. But you’re paying.”

“Sure,” Robin says. “Can I get your number, just in case?” He’s feeling good, he’s on a roll. This isn’t what he planned, but it’s following a script he knows, and it’s going okay. 

Glenn looks cautious, but nods. He accepts Robin’s phone and adds himself as a contact, then hands it back. ”I guess I’ll see you tomorrow…” He trails off and Robin realizes why, and the script he’s been following gets thrown into a shredder. 

“Robin. My name’s Robin,” he tells him. He can’t keep himself from adding, “Really? When my mail gets delivered to your place, you didn’t notice it doesn’t say ‘Mr. Connor’s Dad’?”

Glenn looks blank. “I usually just throw it out if it’s not for me.”

“Sure, that makes sense,” Robin sighs. But even this hiccup isn’t enough to quell the butterflies in his stomach and he finds himself grinning more than is probably cool. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Okay,” Glenn says, closing the door again. “Bye, Robin.”

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn latches the door and lets out the breath he was holding. All right, he pulled that off. Played it very cool. Taking off your shirt and winging it - works more often than you’d expect.

Little shaky on the name part, but he’d exhausted his avenues on that one earlier in the day over text.

_hey connor if ur dad had a name what would it be_

He’d seen the typing dots, then received Connor’s response: 

_megatron_

Little bastard. After all Glenn’s done for him. That kid couldn’t even pick a lock when they met, and look at him now.

Was Connor gonna be a pain in the ass about Glenn hooking up with his dad? The kid seemed cool, but people got weird about family. Glenn has learned that people don’t like you hooking up with their siblings and exes. A parent, though? Oh well, too late now. He and this so-called _Robin_ can bang it out another time after this alleged date and then go back to nodding at each other in the hallway. Robin will get some very spicy memories to warm him in his old age. Glenn will get a free meal, and Connor will keep making life easier for the Close boys. Bodies come and go, but a kid that can top up your stash without being asked and keep track of your passport for you - that’s a relationship worth maintaining.

Later, when Glenn is rummaging through his blankets to find last night's cardigan - one of his favorites, too, and it’s impossible to spot in a mess of dark sheets - he comes across Robin's shirt. He tosses it off to the side with the other clothes without much deliberation; Robin was just there, his wardrobe isn't going to take major losses at the expense of this boring ass t-shirt. That's a problem for future Glenn, definitely. Present Glenn has somewhere to be, and he's not going without the cardigan he planned this entire outfit around.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Robin_ **

It’s the weirdest first date that Robin’s ever been on, and he can’t believe how much fun he’s having. 

Ten minutes in, the tension drops out of his shoulders and he realizes some part of him felt like this was due diligence. Like if he talked to Glenn in a public space where chemistry couldn’t override his sense, he’d realize they had absolutely nothing in common and get the whole mess out of his system. Just a fluke compatibility in one particular area, discovered accidentally on a tipsy night.

What he’s discovering instead is that they have absolutely nothing in common and it’s delightful. 

“So the obvious implication is that any Sasquatch slow enough to get seen by a human is an adolescent,” Glenn’s currently explaining. “Meaning even if they weren’t sapient, hunting them would be totally unethical.”

“That makes total sense,” Robin says. 

Their meals hadn’t even arrived by the time Glenn was leaning in, saying, “I assume you’re familiar with Project Blue Book.” As far as Robin can tell, Glenn’s not outright unhinged. He’s just voraciously curious and open to making absolutely left-field connections between topics. And he’s just so damn funny, too. He’s quick, and surprisingly observant, and drops a terrible pun at one point that makes Robin laugh so hard that he has to wipe his eyes with his napkin.

Glenn seems to have zero interest in the standard first date discussions - what do you do for work, where did you go to school. He mentions Nick frequently, although he doesn’t say anything about Nick’s mother or the wedding ring he’s wearing. He doesn’t seem to find talking about his music career too interesting, and Robin’s honestly relieved not to get any questions about his own job. It’s interesting to do, but it’s just not that interesting to talk about. He’d rather hear more about mysterious cave diving disappearances or whatever else Glenn has been researching obsessively lately. 

He does lose focus at one point, though, and realizes he’s just been watching Glenn’s face as he talks animatedly instead of paying attention to the words. The flash of his eyes, the quirk of his lips, the crinkle of smile lines as he grins. 

“Do I have something on my face?” Glenn asks, and rubs at his mouth. 

“No, you’re good.” Robin says. “You’re great.” 

After they get home, they stand in the hallway talking for most of an hour. Finally, Robin prepares to tear himself away. “This was wonderful, thank you.”

He turns toward his door and Glenn catches his hand. “The boys are at your place, remember? This way.” 

Robin’s working hard to keep his face neutral. “Oh no, I’m sending Nick home and going to bed.” 

Glenn looks stunned.

“This was our first date,” Robin says, trying not to smirk. “I hope you weren’t expecting more than a kiss at the door.” 

Glenn narrows his eyes. “That’s how you’re playing this, man? Okay, fine.” 

He slinks closer to Robin in full charisma mode, backs him up to the wall and presses up against him. When Robin moves in for the kiss, Glenn pulls back a little bit to make him reach for it, then leans in and lets his lips barely brush against Robin’s mouth. He exhales, runs the tip of his tongue lightly along Robin’s lower lip, pulls back just as Robin opens his mouth to let him in. One hand strokes Robin’s chest, the other runs light fingers along his inner thigh. Robin holds back a groan and presses forward into the touch, only to find himself stumbling as Glenn steps abruptly backward. 

“Have a good night,” Glenn says casually, and walks away to his own door with an infuriating swagger. Robin watches him leave and slumps back against the wall, holding the jacket he brought in front of him. 

He takes a minute, sucks in a couple of deep breaths, lets himself into his apartment. Nick and Connor seem to be mostly asleep in front of an old monster movie. “Nick, your dad’s home,” he calls quietly. 

“Oh sick,” Nick says sleepily. “Bye, y’all.” He slides off the couch and stumbles toward the door as Robin continues walking stiffly down the hallway. 

“Dad, hold up,” Connor calls from the couch. “How was the date? I want to know.”

“Tomorrow for sure, kiddo,” Robin calls as he hastily closes the bedroom door behind him and locks it. “I’m really… tired right now.”

**_Glenn_ **

As Glenn walks away, he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing anything downright embarrassing. He waits until he closes the door to his apartment behind him to let out a breath, and stands in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with himself.

“Oh my god,” he says to no one in particular, shaking his hands by his sides as an attempt to curb the adrenaline pumping through him. And damn, he knows it’s his own fault, riling both of them up like that, but _seriously_. 

He spins around hopelessly, in search of something to do with his body that isn’t jumping up and down like an excited schoolgirl. Nick’s going to be back any second, and if he sees his dad like this he’s going to make fun of him endlessly. Glenn’s on cloud fucking nine right now, and he knows good and well that the leverage Nick would gain would be too much to bear. The kid’s too powerful as it is.

When he hears the handle turn he tries to find the closest object to lean on, and he knows he looks incredibly uncomfortable when Nick comes inside. One of his arms is propping him up against the wall of the hallway, he didn’t think to turn on any lights when he came in—Nick hits the light switch by the door and looks quizzically at his father. His father who is posing like a poorly designed mannequin, completely in the dark.

“Howdy, son.”

“I… did you just say ‘howdy’ to me?”

“Is that not how I normally greet you?”

Nick blinks at him, and Glenn must still be obviously buzzing with excitement, because the kid sighs and goes to sit on the couch. “Alright, talk to me.”

On the approach, Glenn thinks about how he’s going to phrase this. It’s not the usual post-date (or, “date”) conversation he _has_ with Nick, so he’s at a slight disadvantage. Not to mention that his son has arguably spent _more time_ with Robin than he has, so what could he possibly tell Nick that he doesn’t already know? He plops himself down on the couch with a sigh.

“You’re familiar with our neighbor Robin, correct?”

“Yes, Dad, I know of him.”

“Good, good,” Glenn mutters under his breath, and he stares at the coffee table to find the answers. Maybe he just says he boned him. He, at least, knows how that conversation goes.

“So it went well?” Nick says after a few moments, and Glenn nods.

“Very well. Super awesome. He’s just so,” Glenn tries to find the word and slumps back on the couch with a soft thud, “kind. He doesn’t… expect anything from me. I don’t think I’ve ever talked that much in my life without someone begging me to get to the point before.”

“That’s something.”

“Nick, I—” Glenn starts, and he shifts on the couch to face Nick properly, “You know you’re the most important dude in the world to me. You matter more to me than anybody. Always will.”

He’s being a sap about this. He can tell by the way Nick is looking at him, and he’s about to start backtracking to make some dumb joke, but Nick interrupts his spiral of thoughts.

“So you didn’t…?”

“What? No, no, I came straight home.” 

“Because like, don’t get me wrong, I super don’t want to hear about it, but usually you at least _mention_ —”

“Nicholas, no, come on.” 

“Hm,” Nick hums, and he’s inspecting Glenn’s face for a hint of a lie. He probably should have kept his escapades to himself a bit more, but it's a little late on that count.

Glenn sighs, cuts to the chase. ”I’m gonna try not to fuck this up too bad," he says quietly. 

“I don’t think you will. I genuinely don’t think Connor would let you.”

Glenn laughs and pulls Nick into a hug (the Glenn Close kind, the one that involves a proper noogie), and Nick shoves him away with a tired chuckle.

“And if you do,” Nick continues as he gets up, “please try to keep it from being awkward between me and Connor. I don’t want to have to move because you tried to ghost our neighbor.”

“Don’t doubt my ability, child.”

Nick throws a peace sign over his shoulder as he heads to his room, and Glenn lays back on the couch.


	4. Chapter 4

**_Glenn_ **

It’s a beautiful warm evening, so Glenn is smoking on the balcony and thinking about life. He brought out this absolute doorstop of a book he’s been working on forever, but he got bogged down again reading about doomed arctic explorers in perfect Californian weather. 

He’s thinking about Nick going to high school next year, and about what might come after. School, work, adventure. Clearly something rad as hell, because it’s Nicholas. The part that troubles Glenn is where he’s going to fit into whatever Nick will be doing in five years.

Five years. Put that way it doesn’t sound so long at all. He thought he had more of a runway than that, but that “they grow up so fast” bullshit wasn’t completely wrong. And Glenn has little basis for comparison, but he has a theory that it probably goes by faster when you’re doing the whole thing yourself. 

Damn, people think it’s hilarious that he’s always looking for a quiet corner and something relaxing to smoke. They should try going a year, let alone eleven, doing the whole 24/7 sole parent and sole household provider thing. No wonder he’s a master of achieving maximum chill in minimum time.

Shit’s pretty good right now, though. Nick is clearly thriving. The Trio is working steady and mostly local. Things with the next door neighbor over the past couple weeks have been interesting. That’s probably why Glenn is thinking about Nick going to college, he’s thinking about Connor and Robin. Connor is five years older than Nick, give or take. Robin’s more than five years older than Glenn, as far as he can tell. Probably ten? It’s so hard to tell sometimes, and then you get those people who just let birthdays slip by without mentioning them, let alone celebrating. 

That’s some bullshit in Glenn’s book. The world doesn’t need fewer excuses to party or do nice things for the people you care about. For Glenn’s birthday in March, he and Nick had done all the coolest shit a 13-year-old was allowed to do in Vegas. It’d be fun to go back and do the adult stuff, too - he should make some plans for that.

“When’s Robin’s birthday?” he says out loud. 

“February 29th,” Robin says from five feet away. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Fuck!” Glenn startles so badly that he jumps out of his chair and drops everything on the ground. 

He goes toward the railing and glares at the next door balcony. Robin is looking at him with bemused concern, seated at the patio table with a book (that looks like a classic bodice-ripper from here) and a half-full rocks glass. Yeah, there are technically some potted palms out there, but Glenn has to admit that he can’t fairly accuse Robin of jumping out from behind anything. 

“Did you forget I was out here?” Robin asks. Glenn looks blankly at him. “I said hello, I swear.” He laughs. “I thought we were having a quiet reading moment together.” 

Robin gets up to lean against his own balcony railing, mirroring Glenn. Glenn notices that Robin’s shirt says _Service with a smile!_ on it. He is... not prepared to engage with that right now.

“I, uh…” Glenn searches for a response. “Yeah, I don’t know. Just thinking, I guess.”

“The boys are working on Nick’s English paper,” Robin says, nodding toward his apartment. “Want to come over?”

Glenn definitely wants to come over, and he also wants to recover a little of the cool that he lost earlier when he got startled. Residual adrenaline tells him this is a great idea, so he hops onto the balcony railing and swings his legs over the edge. Robin immediately panics. “What are you doing?”

The gap between their two balconies isn’t too far, but Glenn’s still relieved when he’s swung himself safely over to Robin’s. Robin grabs him as soon as he’s within arm's reach and lifts him bodily over the railing. He puts Glenn down safely but doesn’t let go of him. “That was ridiculously dangerous.”

Glenn scoffs. “We’re three floors up.”

“They’re very tall stories,” Robin insists, but Glenn can tell he’s not mad. Robin’s still holding him tight, and Glenn nestles up against him comfortably.

“It’s good to see you,” he says quietly. “Good day?”

Robin hums contentedly and Glenn can feel it in his own body. “Not bad. Better now, though.”

Glenn decides to make Robin’s day better still, and steals a quick kiss while they’re still embracing. Robin melts into him easily, as always. Glenn slips him just enough tongue to remind him what he’s missing and pulls away before they get too wound up.

“Nice shirt, by the way,” Glenn says. Robin looks down at it, smiles, and winks at him. Interesting.

Glenn picks up the half-finished drink from the table and heads toward the apartment proper. It’s too bright out to see much inside, but Glenn can tell that Nick’s sitting with his back to the balcony. Excellent. He slides open the door and yells Nick’s name at the top of his lungs. A high-pitched “What the fuck?!” and the sound of breaking glass tells him he’s hit his target. He should have started coming over here years ago.

**_Robin_ **

One nice thing - of many - about hanging out with Glenn is that he’s either forgotten or never knew most traditional dating niceties. When they took their seats at a small table in the back of the bar, Glenn had insisted on going up and ordering for them both. The food, when it arrived, featured a gigantic bucket of buffalo wings. That’s a hell of a date food in Robin’s book - there's just no way to eat those things neatly, and normally this would worry him, but instead he finds himself having fun getting messy as they eat and bicker. As the meal winds down, they end up talking about music and bands - natural, since they ended up here because Glenn’s friend’s band is playing later. It could be going more smoothly, though.

“You can’t really be ‘not that much into music,’ I don’t accept that.” Glenn objects.

“It’s just not a big thing for me, I’m sorry. I like your music.”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie, you don’t, that’s not what’s bothering me. Everybody has a favorite band. It’s like I don’t even know you.” 

Robin shrugs and starts wiping his hands clean. “Pool or shuffleboard?” 

“Pool, obviously.” Glenn hops down from the barstool. “You got quarters?”

“Yeah, just a sec,” Robin replies as he rips open another wet wipe. His hands are still covered in sauce.

Glenn gets in close and sticks his hand in Robin’s front pants pocket, searches around for a bit longer than is strictly necessary, and comes out with some change. “Got it.”

“You play dirty,” Robin says reproachfully to Glenn’s back as he sticks the quarters into the table’s slot. 

Glenn grins and starts setting the balls into the rack. “I know a couple tricks, maybe. You want to break?” 

Robin gestures for Glenn to take the shot, which he does with ease. The first phase of the game is pretty relaxed, with no apparent major gap in their abilities. Glenn’s got a very relaxed style, shoots from the hip. Looks distractingly sexy doing it.

Then it’s Robin’s turn on a bad leave, and he can’t quite figure out the angle. Glenn comes over to help him. “Bank it off the rail right there, man.” He leans in close and adjusts Robin’s grasp on the cue, helps him find the geometry of the shot. It’s a cliche, but the physical proximity and light contact has Robin’s heart racing regardless. He successfully pockets the ball, but has to relinquish the table again before long. It’s more fun to watch Glenn play, anyway - he’s mellower than usual in his home element, and he looks damn good slinking around the pool table and bending to set up his shots.

Finally he misses a shot and steps back to let Robin take a turn, leaning nearby to watch. Before Robin takes his shot, Glenn speaks. “ABBA? Really? Busted.”

Robin realizes he’s been humming along under his breath to the song on the jukebox. _Waterloo / Couldn’t escape if I wanted to…_ He misses the shot, nearly scratches. “This is why I didn’t say anything. I knew you wouldn’t appreciate my musical taste.” 

“Taste?” Glenn points at Robin with the cue as he walks around the table. “Taste is a stretch.”

“ _The Winner Takes It All_ is the best song ever written about breaking up,” Robin objects. “That song got me through my divorce.”

“Disco stopped being cool before you were born, man.” Glenn considers this. “In fact, not sure disco was ever cool.”

“Fuck cool, it’s good,” Robin responds mildly. 

“That energy I can vibe with,” Glenn concedes. He’s running out the table now, and Robin doesn’t expect to get another crack at it. “Not giving a shit is generally cool.” He sinks the eight ball and gives a satisfied nod.

Robin laughs as he puts his cue back in the rack. “Then my geocaching phase was an extremely punk rock time in my life. Let me know if you need some pointers on keeping it cool.” 

The band is setting up now, and Glenn tries to change the subject. “Let’s go say hi to the guys, I’ll introduce you.”

“Excellent, I’ll tell them we’re doing a half marathon together.” Robin replies. Glenn groans, but Robin’s not done torturing him yet. “Or a sunrise hike? Really just _go off,_ and hit the farmers’ market super early tomorrow? We’re going to be so _cool_.”

“You’re killing me.” Glenn swats at Robin’s chest, but pulls him by the elbow toward his friends anyway.

**_Glenn_ **

It's been two days since their latest date, and Glenn is pissed that he hasn't stopped thinking about Robin. He's got things to do, people to see, but when he's sitting in a Trio rehearsal that evening thinking about "ways to serenade a man he knows very little about,” he knows that serious and immediate action needs to be taken. So, he turns to the trio and asks, "You guys wanna smoke?"

It's a miracle he gets home. He did, admittedly, go a little too hard in his best efforts to stop thinking about everything. Nick is already asleep, and Glenn's glad he can avoid whatever that conversation would be as he trudges down the hallway to his room.

He flops belly-first onto his bed and reaches blindly off the side to fish for something to wear to bed. It's not the most graceful dance as he undresses to his underwear and throws on a big shirt - there’s always been something that rubs him the wrong way about sleeping completely naked, and as a bonus, it helps him avoid flashing his son.

As he gets himself comfortable and ready to fall asleep, his stupid mind wanders back to his dumb neighbor. Not even sexy thoughts, either, which really annoys him; he thinks about if Robin were to sleep over, which side he would take. Glenn often sleeps on whichever part of the bed presents itself to him first, and generally ends up smack in the middle, so he hopes Robin's either willing to go with it, or… fuck, who knows. It's not like he's staying the night any time soon, he's made that abundantly clear. Glenn flips himself onto his back and sighs up at the ceiling. He, of course, would be the little spoon. Or maybe not, maybe it’d be fun to jetpack up on that broad back and pass out. Robin has proved that he's pretty flexible with Glenn's antics, he doesn't think he'd protest.

The image his mind supplies is disgustingly domestic, which has never been a word that Glenn has used to describe his life, ever. It makes him want to go… light some illegal fireworks, or tip a cow, or something. Out of sheer protest of the thought of living a domestic life. But, nonetheless, he's thinking about pressing his sexy-ass face into Robin's chest, one of Robin's stupid sexy hands rubbing his back as he falls asleep. He would smell nice, Glenn thinks. 

Or, he _does_ smell nice, Glenn realizes, does he _smell_ Robin? Like some sort of weird bloodhound? He shouldn’t be hallucinating, unless the weed's mixed with something. Glenn peeks his eyes open and glances around, half-expecting the man in question to somehow have materialized in his room. It's not until he looks down that he realizes he's wearing that awful blue shirt that Robin left.

"Oh," he mumbles, and then laughs for what is definitely longer than appropriate at himself for panicking.

Well, he has it, so he might as well indulge his idiot brain's desires for the night. It's nice, as much as he hates to admit it. It's nice to indulge the hot fantasy of sleeping next to someone you kind of like. This is a terrible side effect of getting older, that's the only real explanation. He'll just have to go out and party tomorrow to make up for it. But right now, sleep sounds pretty nice, and if he's pretending that Robin's there with him, well, nobody needs to know.

**_Robin_ **

Three and a half weeks of slowly and strategically wooing Glenn Close has Robin feeling some kind of way. Mostly like he hasn’t had this much fun in years, and like he’s never gotten this little work done before. If he’s not checking his phone to see what Glenn’s texted him, he’s staring at the same document for half an hour without actually reading it, remembering their last date or fantasizing about future ones. 

Keeping a lid on the sexual tension is not the easiest job, but he’s staying the course. He’s already paid his lifetime dues with trying to substitute sex for intimacy. Something tells him Glenn might be willing to try a different way if it was on offer, but old habits die hard. If not? Well, at least he tried.

It’s late on a work night and he should really be asleep already, but he and Glenn are together on the couch and he can’t bring himself to break the spell. Glenn’s taking up most of the couch and is using Robin as a backrest, Robin’s arm resting across his chest. 

Robin tries to think of another subject they haven’t covered yet in their informal game of Never Have I Ever. It’s devolved into just asking each other questions at this point. The delays between their answers are getting longer, and he knows they’re both tired, but it’s too tempting to keep rousing himself enough to ask something else and get Glenn talking again. For a guy who initially comes across as laconic, it turns out Glenn has plenty to say if you actually ask. Robin has a mischievous thought. “Ever dropped a baby?”

Glenn grins. “Yeah, but he helped. He was like, eighteen months? I was putting him down, his feet touched the ground, for some fucking reason he decided to ragdoll right as I was letting go. Face planted straight into the wall.” He taps his fingers against Robin’s arm. “What about you?”

“Not exactly dropped, but I was lifting him into the air one time and there was a whole light fixture I hadn’t noticed.” He feels Glenn suppressing his laughter. “No, you can laugh, it was hilarious. He was fine. Never tell him, though.”

Glenn thinks for a minute. “Broken a bone?”

Robin traces his hand along Glenn’s forearm. “Yeah, in a spill off the bike.” He wraps his hand around Glenn’s elbow protectively. “Radial head got destroyed, had to do a splint and a sling, the whole nine yards.” 

“That sucks,” Glenn says. He’s counting on his fingers slowly. “Left wrist, right hand, can’t remember which knuckles, but… whatever you fuck up when you punch something, I’ve probably done it at some point.” 

He laughs. “Broke my nose once, not in a fight though. We’d been into the tequila, she was taking off a tight shirt and I leaned in too close when she couldn’t see me. Caught an elbow right to the face.” He shakes his head regretfully. “I was horny, I tried to power through, but it was ridiculous. Ended up at the emergency room, telling them it was a bar fight.” 

Robin interlaces his fingers with Glenn’s like he can keep them from harm after the fact somehow. “Your hands, though…”

Glenn sighs. “Yeah, I know. It’s not smart, it just kinda happens.” 

Robin searches for a lighter subject. He’s in slightly risky territory here, but… “Skinny dipping? I’ll tell you up front, I’ve never been tempted.”

Glenn’s eyes are still closed, but he gestures decisively to emphasize his firm opinions on the subject. “Pool yes, ocean no. I don’t want a fish to bite my dick.” 

Robin nods. “Extremely fair.” He thinks some more. It’s not technically his turn, but Glenn’s getting drowsy. “Regretted a tattoo?”

“Nah, even the shitty ones are like... I’m not mad at that Glenn and what he thought was a good idea. Pretty sure he was having fun.” Glenn twists to look at Robin’s face. “You don’t have ink, do you?”

“You didn’t notice?” Robin asks. 

“It was dark,” Glenn protests. “And I was kinda drunk and a lot was happening.”

Robin relents. “No, no tattoos. Never saw anything I liked enough to have on my body full-time.” He sees Glenn’s expression. “Oh, you know what I mean.” 

Glenn yawns. “Yeah, yeah.”

Robin searches for another topic and comes up empty-handed, decides to let it rest. After only a few minutes of silence, he’s pretty sure Glenn’s fallen asleep. His breathing is getting deep and regular and his body is so relaxed. Robin doesn’t really want to disrupt him, but he convinces himself that they’ll have this opportunity again.

He gently strokes his fingers across Glenn’s forehead. “You should go home, gorgeous, it’s late.” It just slips out like that and he immediately bites his lip. It’s still pretty early for pet names and such. But Glenn either doesn’t notice or takes it as his rightful due, and hauls himself sleepily to his feet. 

“Don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here,” Glenn mumbles to himself as he puts his shoes on. 

Robin walks him to the door and gives him a soft kiss before he leaves. He thinks Glenn is melting tenderly into his embrace and then he realizes what’s actually happening. “You can’t fall asleep on me. Go home.” 

He steers Glenn out into the hall and makes the same cheesy joke they always make. “Okay, drive safe.” It wasn’t funny the first time, but tradition is tradition. 

Glenn waves goodbye as he stumbles home. Robin watches until he’s safely inside before he closes his own door. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content in this chapter. Sex is an important part of a relationship for some people (including these two), but if it’s not a part you prefer to read about then you can safely skip this chapter.

**_Glenn_ **

It’s a full month past their first date and Glenn is seriously wondering how long Robin’s gonna hold out on him. They’ve gone out for coffee, had more meals out and at home, even stayed in and watched a movie together. But every date ends with a kiss goodnight and nothing more. At least if they hadn’t already slept together, Glenn could pretend he wasn’t missing out on anything. This, though? Is excruciating.

When Glenn knocks on Robin’s door that evening and lets himself in, the apartment is darker than usual. Although they usually eat at the kitchen table, Robin’s set the dining table this time, and candles are casting a flattering light.

Robin steps out from the kitchen with a glass of wine for each of them. He gives Glenn a quick peck on the lips, hands him his glass.

“What’s the occasion?” Glenn asks, sipping the wine. “This tastes expensive.”

“I’m seducing you,” Robin says firmly. “The time has come.”

“Damn, finally.” Glenn hooks his arm around Robin’s waist and pulls him into a passionate kiss. “Let’s go.”

Robin pulls away reluctantly and shakes his head, smiling. “Oh no, this is a whole thing. I cooked. I did a wine pairing. Sit back and be wooed, already.”

Glenn takes another sip, sizes up the situation. “All right, show me what you’ve got.”

Three hours and four courses later, and Glenn is flat on his back on Robin’s bed. Not quite in the way he envisioned, though. They’re both fully dressed and miles away from frisky. He feels like a drowsy, overinflated balloon. “I’ve never felt less sexy in my entire life,” he groans.

“I may have made a strategic error,” Robin says. He’s sitting next to Glenn on the bed, rubbing Glenn’s arm reassuringly. 

“Just give me a minute, baby,” Glenn says with effort. “I’m gonna seriously rock your world, promise.” His eyes are drifting closed. 

“Oh, for sure,” Robin says. “But maybe for right now, you should just take your pants off-“

“Gngh.”

“-and get under the covers.” 

“Hey,” Glenn protests as Robin helps him undress and get into bed. “Glenn Close does not have half a bottle of red wine and fall asleep, okay? I can party.” He groans a little as he settles in. “I think it was the chocolate torte that did me in.”

“Shh, I know,” Robin says, getting in beside him and putting his arms around Glenn gently. “I’m really tired, so you should lie down with me for a bit. Just to keep an eye on me.” 

“Okay,” Glenn yawns. “But just for, like, a minute.”

In the morning, Glenn wakes up confused. It’s his room, but it’s not his room. Somebody has replaced all his stuff in the middle of the night, for unknown but surely nefarious purposes. 

Wait. No. This is Robin’s apartment. Same layout, different details. That does make more sense. That would also explain why Robin is in the bed next to him, still sound asleep. 

First things first. Glenn hops out of bed, heads to the bathroom, swings by the kitchen on the way back to get a glass of water. It may not be the most rock and roll way to get up, but hydration is half the secret to living to party another day. He’s not a teenager anymore, he has to stay on top of this shit. 

He moves quietly as he walks back into the bedroom and climbs back in next to Robin, trying not to jostle him too much. Robin stirs, and Glenn holds his breath. Then Robin throws an arm over Glenn and pulls him close, mumbling something in his sleep that isn’t words. Glenn hesitates, then relaxes gratefully against the warm body in front of him. 

He hasn’t gotten much of a chance to study Robin this close up and unobserved. His stubble has come in overnight, and there’s gray among the dark blond hairs. It matches the silvery lines at Robin’s temples and scattered here and there above his forehead. Glenn’s always vigilant for gray in the mirror, but on Robin, it looks good. Like strands of a precious metal. 

Sometime after Glenn fell asleep, Robin must have changed into real pajamas, a matching charcoal-colored silk set. What kind of nerd buys clothes just for sleeping, Glenn wonders. Just pass out in whatever, and save your money for something more fun. Plus, they don’t even stay on right. The pajama top has rumpled up during the night, baring the lean plane of Robin’s side, the soft curve of his stomach. 

Oh, that’s right, Glenn remembers. He has a mission. And he has been cleared for takeoff, at long last. He debates whether to let Robin sleep a bit longer. 

Nah.

Glenn gives in to the urge to put his hand on the tempting bare skin just above Robin’s pajama pants. Robin stirs at the contact and his eyes open slowly. He smiles at Glenn. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Glenn replies. He strokes his thumb back and forth slowly where it rests on Robin’s hip. Robin’s suddenly looking much more awake and very focused. His arm around Glenn’s waist pulls them closer together, and his free hand moves to cup Glenn’s cheek, his thumb running gently along Glenn’s lower lip.

Glenn’s heart is beating faster already. “You sure you’re not going to wind me up and leave me hanging?” 

Robin gives an amused huff. “You think it’s been easy for me? The other night, after karaoke? I almost jumped you right there in the hallway.” Robin plants a gentle kiss on Glenn’s jawline, then one on his throat.

“Then why not?” Glenn murmurs.

“Mmm, because I thought you might use me up and throw me away.” Robin grins. “That’d just be a waste of a perfectly good DILF.”

Glenn shoves him and tries to roll away. “Ew, stop. It sounds so gross when you say it.”

Robin laughs, but there’s something he’s not saying. Glenn searches his eyes. “What? Don’t get all quiet and weird, nothing bad is happening.” 

“I wanted you to know that you’re not disposable, either.” Robin finally says quietly. “You’re a treasure.” 

“Wow.” Glenn manages. “And _you_ are a sap.” But he’s smiling as he says it, and punctuates it with a kiss. His tongue slips easily between Robin’s lips. They’ve kissed enough by now that it’s a familiar dance, always a little different but smoother than in the beginning. 

Glenn reaches down and palms Robin through the silk pajama pants. The slippery slide of the fabric lets his hand glide smoothly over the growing hardness beneath. Robin is taking deep and deliberate breaths to stay in control. An answering fire is rising in Glenn’s own body, and he thinks he’d very much like to make Robin lose that careful composure. Glenn comes up with a plan. “Sit up, I need leverage.”

Robin obediently moves to sit at the head of the bed, and Glenn straddles him, kissing him as he grinds down onto his lap. It’s like being in high school again, making out with your clothes on and still turned on as all hell. “I kept thinking about the other time,” Glenn confides quietly, his hips rolling against Robin’s lap. 

Robin gasps at the insistent pressure, his fingers digging into Glenn. “I know. You were so… aggressive. I had no idea.”

Glenn scoffs between kisses. “Aggressive? I’m not the one who got all handsy.”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin says, like he has a thousand times already. “I still don’t know what came over me.” 

“Lust,” Glenn reassures him confidently. Robin certainly can’t deny that, given what Glenn’s feeling as he pins Robin under him and ruts against his lap. It’s nice for the moment to have the upper hand on Robin, to be looking down at him and in control. He twists his fingers into Robin’s hair so he can pull him in close and nip at his earlobe, making him groan and buck his hips upward. “Couldn’t keep your hands off me a second longer, obviously.” 

“I really wasn’t trying—“ Robin starts, and then Glenn grabs his face and kisses him mid-sentence to shut him up already. It’s a deep and forceful one, and a whimper escapes Robin’s lips.

Enjoyable as it is, Glenn can’t bring himself to linger any longer on kissing and fooling around over their clothes when he finally gets to do _more_. He pulls off his own shirt quickly and begins to unbutton Robin’s dumb pajama top, still sliding back and forth in Robin’s lap. There’s a flush creeping across Robin’s chest and he doesn’t seem to be able to hold back from kissing Glenn, even as they’re trying to remove their clothing. The weeks of teasing have made them as impatient as teenagers. 

“Where do you keep—“ 

Robin nods toward the bedside table. “Second drawer down.”

Glenn searches for a minute and grabs the necessary items, holds up the condom. “You or me?” 

“Whatever you want,” Robin says, trying to catch his breath. “I want to do absolutely everything sooner or later. But right now, I just want you.” 

Glenn can’t meet his eyes. This earnest motherfucker. Who even talks like that? “You’re lucky you’re hot enough to get away with that cheesy shit.” 

When he looks up, Robin’s looking at him levelly. “Do you want me to stop?” 

Glenn shakes his head. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.” He takes off his boxers and sits back onto Robin’s lap as he gets the lube and prepares himself. Robin seems unsure where to put his own hands, settles for running them along Glenn’s back and kissing along his neck. He has a way of dragging against the skin with his teeth that drives Glenn absolutely crazy and it’s hard to tear himself away long enough to pull down the pajama pants and roll the condom on.

Robin bites lightly at his shoulder as Glenn sinks down onto him. God, that’s good. He stays there for a moment, head lowered. One hand grips the headboard and the other is on Robin’s shoulder. Robin’s holding still, letting Glenn adjust if he needs to, but it’s not discomfort that’s holding Glenn back. He finds himself wanting to savor the moment. The connection, the fullness, the pleasure. 

As Glenn begins to ride him, Robin’s hands slide down to his hips. It’s a fond and protective grip, not a controlling one. Just a firm touch saying, I’m here with you. 

This is something Glenn’s noticed about Robin. When he’s happy and relaxed, he’s paying attention to the present moment and company, not drawn to thoughts of the future or the past. He’s bringing that focus to bear on Glenn at present, his eyes hazy as Glenn sinks onto him over and over, the strokes long and firm. Robin’s watching Glenn like he expects him to disappear at any moment, and he wants to remember everything for when that happens. 

The sensation of Robin finally inside him is perfect, and he could really get somewhere with this if he was only working on getting himself off. There’s a subtle tension in Robin though, and that’s no good. Glenn leans forward as he rocks his hips, breathes a kiss just below Robin’s ear. “You’re holding back, baby.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Not even if I begged you to?” Glenn challenges him, grinding down slowly. He feels Robin’s hips twitch underneath him. “Oh, I’ve been paying attention. The way you kiss, that sturdy-ass headboard?” Robin glances at said headboard, startled. Glenn circles his hips while Robin’s deep inside, eliciting a ragged gasp. “You’ll let me take the lead, you play it all mild-mannered, but you’ve got that dom energy, man.” 

Robin can’t meet Glenn’s eyes for a second, and Glenn grins, a delicious heat rising in him as he flusters and teases the poor man, speaking softly as he rides him. “I’m bad with names but I can spot a kink from a mile off. You’re not gonna break me, I promise.” 

He lifts up and grinds down hard again, drawing a groan from Robin. “You’re at a one out of ten, want to bring it up to… let’s say, a five? For now?”

“You’ll tell me if it’s too much?” Robin’s voice is low and intense. His fingers are tightening on Glenn’s hips.

“Trust me,” Glenn says.

He barely has time to catch the glint in Robin’s eye before he’s being thrown flat on his back onto the bed. Robin’s on top of him a second later, thrusting hard into him as he catches Glenn’s wrists in his hands and pins them to the bed. 

Glenn cries out and Robin searches his face, pausing for a moment. Glenn manages a panting smile, almost too turned on to form words. “Did I say to stop?”

Just like that he’s getting pounded into the mattress, hard and fast and rough. Robin’s mouth is on his neck and he’s kissing, sucking, biting roughly at the tender skin. There’s nothing to do but throw his head back and get carried away by the waves of pleasure, the lightning sparking through his body with every thrust. 

He’s making broken, abandoned sounds already, unable to keep himself from getting shamelessly loud. It feels entirely different to be used like this by someone who cares. Like he’s the most irresistible thing in the world to Robin. Like Robin wants to steal him away and keep him all to himself and never let him go.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Robin says wonderingly as he drags a ragged moan from Glenn. “Look at you.” He bends his head down to nip fiercely, bruisingly at Glenn’s neck. 

Glenn catches Robin’s mouth as he pulls back, tastes his own sweat on Robin’s lips. It could be scary with the wrong person, having someone bigger than you bring their strength to bear on holding you down and fucking you hard. He feels so safe with Robin, though - he knows could say “stop” and throw the brakes on immediately if he needed to, but god, that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. Between panting breaths, he manages one begging word. “Harder.”

Robin releases one of Glenn’s wrists and uses his free hand to hook Glenn’s leg up to his chest, plunging deeper inside. He’s found the perfect angle and the crush of their bodies together is putting an exquisite pressure and friction on Glenn’s own aching hardness. Normally, that alone wouldn’t be enough to get him there, but the anticipation and the intensity combine to push him over the edge. “Oh, fuck, yes, fuck—“ He draws a ragged breath as he comes hard, his wrist twisting in Robin’s tight grip. 

Robin keeps moving in him, rough, fast, pushing him through the peak of his pleasure. Then he’s sinking his teeth into Glenn’s shoulder with a muffled groan, his fingers digging into Glenn’s thigh with bruising pressure, and his hips are twitching, still pumping as he finds his own release. 

The sweat is damp on their skin as they move together for a little longer, overstimulated but reluctant to stop. Glenn’s eyes are still closed and he finds himself noticing the movement of their chests together as they breathe. Robin is kissing him softly on the jaw, the throat, the forehead. “You’re beautiful,” he’s saying. “You’re wonderful.” 

Glenn blinks and smiles. “Sweet talker.” They untangle themselves and Robin immediately pulls him in tight again, holding him close and secure. 

They doze for a while, lulled with the afterglow. Finally Glenn yawns and uncurls himself like a cat waking up from a nap. He looks at Robin, shakes his shoulder. “I want coffee.” 

Robin throws an arm over his own eyes to block out the world. “Mmmmm, okay.” He doesn’t move and Glenn shakes him again. “Okay, okay.” He loosens his grip on Glenn and stretches out with a satisfied sigh. 

“I think we all learned something today about asking for what we want,” Glenn says, only half teasing. 

Robin rubs his hand over his face. “Point taken.” His mouth quirks a bit. “I do want to point out that my headboard is just… made of actual wood instead of particleboard. It’s not a sex thing.”

“Huh.” Glenn feigns confusion. “It’s so weird how you didn’t correct me at the time. Did you get distracted?”

“Well, you did the math wrong and still got the right answer somehow,” Robin says with a helpless shrug. 

Glenn nods. “That’s my specialty.” He lies there, replaying the morning’s events in detail in his mind. “That was a five out of ten, huh?”

Robin considers this, rocks his hand side to side equivocally. “Four to six range, for sure.”

“When can I see ten?”

Robin groans as he rolls away from Glenn and sits up. “Let me get a shower and some breakfast, and I’ll think about it.”

“Fine, you can recover some life force or whatever,” Glenn says, flopping back onto the pillows. He watches shamelessly as Robin pulls his pajamas on.

Before Robin leaves, Glenn adds one more thing. “Hey, when we’re in bed - or wherever - don’t feel like you have to restrain yourself, okay?” He grins. “Restraints are _my_ job now.” 

Robin groans. “God, how can something be so terrible and hot at the same time?”

Glenn laughs. “That’s the brand.”


	6. Chapter 6

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn has decided that he needs to do something nice for Robin. He's been staring at his dark ceiling for the past few hours contemplating the complexities of grilled cheese (could you make one with mac and cheese on the outside? How bad would he fuck up his stove if he tried? Is grilled cheese a ravioli?). Once grilled cheese gets boring, he lets his mind wander over to Robin. He's probably sleeping, the son of a bitch. Glenn turns his head toward the wall that separates his and Robin's apartment and puffs out a soft sigh. He can't imagine being in an actual proper relationship with someone like him. Glenn's notorious for doing whatever he wants, whenever he wants—there's no way that's easy to be tied down to. His wife indulged his whims, was just as impulsive when it came to fucking off for a weekend, but he wasn't like this then. Not as… carefree, to put it nicely. More responsible for his own well-being, probably. He blames it on a sort of mid-life crisis; Glenn doesn't want to be one of those guys who just sits around and lets life happen to him. It's not a lifestyle that tends to involve other people. 

But Robin… shit, he can't really bring himself to _not_ care about him. Robin just cares. Expects nothing in return when he brings Glenn dinner because he assumes (correctly) he hasn't eaten properly all day. Rolls with the punches. Sure, usually people will put up with Glenn for a little bit, long enough for a quick fuck or two and then bounce without so much as a goodbye. Glenn sits up on the bed and scrubs his hands over his face, trying desperately not to think of all the times he's been used before. Robin's working hard to be the opposite of that, he reminds himself as he slides out of bed. And he deserves something for it, for once.

By the time Nick rolls out of bed, close to ten in the morning, Glenn is asleep at the kitchen table with his head on his arms. Nothing really surprises the kid anymore, but he decides to investigate the scene anyway. There's two trays of cookies sitting on top of the stove, one chocolate chip and one that appears to be some form of chocolate cookie. The rest of the kitchen isn't obscenely messy, the typical amount of flour scattered around, a bunch of bowls and measuring cups in and around the sink. Nick kicks one of the legs of Glenn's chair, making him snap up and blink wearily at his son.

"What's all this for?" Nick asks. Glenn squints at the mess.

"Cookies," Glenn helpfully explains, tilting his head to crack his neck, "Robin."

Nick smiles and reaches down to rustle his dad's hair to get some of the flour out. "Aw, you're whipped."

"I'm not _whipped,"_ Glenn swats Nick's hand away. “Can’t a man make cookies at four in the morning for his… Robin?"

"His Robin," Nick echoes, and Glenn glares at him. “Look, I'm gonna text Connor to warn him about the kitchen. Pack those up or something, you can't just bring the sheet trays over."

Glenn doesn't have time to work out exactly why he's nervous as he stands outside Robin's door with three different sized containers in his hands. He kicks the door a few times and braces himself for the inevitable.

"I told you not to kick my door,” Robin says as he pulls the door open. Glenn extends his arms toward him.

"I didn't have hands. Take them."

Robin breaks out into a smile, and Glenn's neutral expression is poorly masking how fast his heart is beating. "Did you make these for me?"

"No, I want you to feed them to your dog."

"I don't have a dog."

"You don't?"

Robin laughs and takes the containers out of his hands, and Glenn doesn't wait for the invitation before he's following him in the house. It's always amusing to him how vastly different their homes are despite the similar layout. Robin can apparently pick out a book or a print or an end table, decide he likes it, and just keep it for the rest of his life. As a result, a lot of the stuff in the house is out of style, but well taken care of. If Robin keeps those acid washed jeans another ten years, Glenn muses, they might even come back into fashion. But hopefully not.

Glenn slings himself onto the couch in the living room and turns on the TV, busying himself with finding a channel that has something vaguely interesting on it.

"Which should I try first?" Robin calls from the kitchen.

"I'm partial to the Mexican hot chocolate ones," Glenn yells back.

Robin returns with a plate and the requisite glass of milk for Glenn, and Glenn takes it without looking up from the piranhas on the screen.

"You're a psychopath," Glenn mutters as he takes a cookie, and Robin chuckles as he sits down by Glenn's feet, water in hand.

"It's just not worth the gastrointestinal stress."

"Psychopath," Glenn repeats, this time around a mouthful of cookie.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Robin take a bite, and tries to pretend that validation from him doesn't mean everything to him right then.

"Y'know," Robin says after a few moments, "it's not fair that you're an insanely good chef."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean, all that wasted potential."

Glenn kicks Robin's thigh. "I cook for Nick all the time!"

Robin hums, like he's thinking deeply. "I dunno, I have no evidence. I think you need to cook for me sometime."

"Have I not?"

"Nope."

"Huh.” Glenn turns his attention back to the screen. Maybe he should bring something over some time. Next meal he makes for Nick. Should he invite Robin over? Has he… not invited Robin over for non-sexy reasons?

They fall silent for a while, watching people splash around dramatically in the Amazon, and Glenn finds himself watching Robin for a good chunk of it. He doesn't know what the fuck has gotten into him the past few days, but this yearning shit is getting on his last nerve. He doesn't remember this part of his last serious relationship, and it might just be because neither of them are rushing into anything. Hell, they haven't even _defined_ anything. 

"Hey," Robin finally says as the show ends, "thank you for the cookies, by the way. That was very sweet of you."

Glenn doesn't look away from the TV, afraid that his face will betray him. "Yeah, well. Thought I owed you. You've done enough for me."

Robin chuckles and pats one of Glenn's shins. "You don't owe me anything."

Glenn can't help the smile that creeps onto his face, and Robin, who is stupidly observant, notices immediately.

"Aww, you like me."

"I'm going to kill you in your sleep."

"Promise?"

Before Glenn can turn to properly scowl at Robin, Robin's holding one of his feet down and tickles with his free hand. Glenn shouts and uses his uncaptured leg to try and kick Robin off, too paralyzed by laughter to sit up and try and pry him off with his hands. By the time Robin stops, Glenn is properly winded, and he sits up and folds his arms over his chest in a huff.

"Sleep with one eye open."

Robin smiles at him. "Do you want to stay over tonight?"

There's a beat, before, "Of course I do."

**_Robin_ **

Robin is only mildly surprised when Glenn walks unannounced straight into the apartment that afternoon. He’s in the kitchen, working on a complicated paella for dinner, and Glenn slaps him on the ass as he walks through. “Nick needs a thing for school.”

“What kind of thing?”

“It’s for a family history project, my family is weird so we’re gonna steal something from you.”

“That’s fine, I think there are some scrapbooks in the bedroom closet. Left side, on top of the Halloween decorations. Help yourself to my dead relatives.”

Robin turns his attention back to his cooking, hums quietly to himself. 

“Why is there a lock on the Halloween decorations?” Glenn shouts from the bedroom.

“There’s not,” Robin calls back, distracted by the recipe. Then his stomach drops through the floor. “Left side of the closet, Glenn, _left side.”_

By the time he sprints to the bedroom it’s too late, and Glenn has pried open the lid to a small footlocker in the right half of the closet. 

“Did you just rip the lock straight off, you undomesticated wolverine?”

“I picked it in like two seconds. I figured there must be some good shit in here if you locked it, and I was right.” He gives Robin an appreciative smirk. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Robin finds he can only stand there, his hands twisting his apron into a knot. Glenn’s a tactile guy, so of course he’s running his hands over the bundle of soft rope, the cuffs, the modest collection of neatly organized bits of leather and vinyl and silicone. Watching him do this is doing things to Robin that feel like they shouldn’t be allowed on a weekday afternoon. 

He finally clears his throat to break the spell. “I know that’s not everyone’s cup of tea, so...”

Glenn’s shaking his head reproachfully. “You poor bastard. How many vanilla-ass dates did you bang on this bed while this perfectly good kinky shit was locked up like it did a crime or something?”

Robin isn’t sure how to answer that question. “I mean it’s not the _only_ thing I like, you certainly know that.” 

“But you clearly do like it,” Glenn replies. “Nope, go turn off the stove right now, we’re doing this.”

“But my paella—“

Glenn’s holding his wrists out like he’s being arrested. “We’ll order a pizza. _Go.”_


	7. Chapter 7

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn's not really sure how he ended up here, but he's shouting at someone at the bar he frequents, and Robin is holding him back. He registers Robin telling him to stop, he does, but the man in front of him is standing in his face, smug ass grin, and Glenn's not giving up that easily.

"Stop, I can—" Glenn shoves Robin and weasels his way out of his arms, "I can fucking handle this on my own."

The man in front of him laughs, looks around at his stupid lackeys to make sure they're laughing. 

"What, can't get off unless they're looking, too?" Glenn shouts, and he feels a hand grab his elbow.

"Sweetheart, come on," Robin pleads, but Glenn tugs his arms forward out of his grasp.

"Yeah, _sweetie,_ why don't you run home to your little hobbit hole and leave the karaoke to the experts." 

Glenn mutters something that is words-adjacent and pounces on the guy, and everyone starts yelling. People are moving too fast for him to get any great licks in, everyone is shouting, Robin's grabbing the back of his shirt to pull him away—but everything goes quiet when the man lands a solid punch to Glenn's nose. He stumbles backwards and gets supported by Robin's outstretched arms. Of course, Robin is doing what he does best, and is freaking out.

"Oh fuck, okay, Glenn, we're leaving, just—" Robin's muttering, helping him to stand again, but Glenn's been here before. Been worse off, even. He stands up straight and spits blood at the bastard's feet.

"'s all you got?"

"Glenn—"

"Oh, _Glenn,"_ the man mimics Robin in a high-pitched whine, "fuck outta here, you has-been."

Glenn's about to lunge forward again, fists blazing, but Robin places a hand in the middle of Glenn's chest silently. It's different this time, though, and Robin looks over Glenn's face for something before turning around to square up to this dude.

Robin is, of course, bigger than Glenn and has an inch or so on this other guy. If he's being honest, Glenn's not paying attention to any of the words coming out of his mouth. He's never seen Robin _properly_ angry - annoyed at something Glenn did, sure - but the muscles of his back are tense through his shirt and he’s gesturing furiously at the guy. 

The guy slaps Robin’s hand out of the air and tries to grapple with him, but Robin pulls free and swings at the guy’s jaw, landing a solid blow. Then Robin grabs Glenn's wrist and they make a fast retreat. Robin is shaking his hand like it stings and looks shocked. Glenn stumbles a little to keep up as they run out of the bar and toward home. 

Once they’re out of view of the bar, the two of them half-jog to a stop, giddy and laughing. Glenn fists a hand in the front of Robin’s shirt and tugs him down to kiss him roughly. Robin makes a noise of surprise but goes easily—it’s one of the things that always gets Glenn, how willing Robin is to follow when it comes to these things. Robin’s hands find their way to Glenn’s sides, and it might be the mix of alcohol and adrenaline in both of them, but the kiss is far from their nicest. It’s mostly teeth and tongues. Glenn makes a low noise as he slides his hand to the back of Robin’s neck and presses him closer. 

Somehow Glenn ends up with his back against some cold brick wall, and he’s about to make a move when Robin pulls away and falls into a fit of laughter. Glenn doesn’t know what’s so funny about the whole situation, really, but he finds himself laughing along with Robin, searching his face for a hint into that brain of his.

“What—” Robin interrupts himself with a laugh, and brings his hands up to cup both of Glenn’s cheeks. “Are you okay? You got punched in the face! Your poor face!”

Oh, right. Robin’s still chuckling as he brushes his thumbs under Glenn’s eyes, where Glenn can only assume he’s got some wicked bruises forming. “Oh, _Glenn,”_ Robin sighs, and Glenn’s heart does some gnarly flips, “We need to get you ice.”

“It’s not even a little bit sexy?” Glenn wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis, and Robin rolls his eyes.

“As much as I want to ravish you passionately in the middle of the road, I also want to know that you’re okay.”

Glenn groans, but he’s still smiling. “Buzzkill. You’re lucky you’re hot.”

Robin stands up straight and holds one of his hands out for Glenn to take. Glenn slaps it away, and Robin starts walking, but Glenn jogs a half-step and grabs Robin’s hand.

After a few minutes, Glenn tugs on Robin’s hand to make him look over at him. “You know I’m not going to just forget that you punched that dude for me.”

Robin looks embarrassed, and Glenn knocks his shoulder into his side gently. “Aside from it being sexy as fuck, I appreciate it.”

“Oh, come on,” Robin laughs, “I’d defend your honor wherever.”

Glenn falls quiet for a moment, thankful that Robin is more concerned with getting them home than he is watching Glenn’s face. Because Glenn’s grinning like an idiot at the ground, and his brain is working against the alcohol to try and figure out how to play this off in his normal cool-as-fuck way. Finally, he settles on,

“Guess I’ve got to get into more fights, then.”

**_Robin_ **

They’re walking along, enjoying the sights and sounds of a boardwalk carnival under the stars. It was intended as an outing for both families, but Connor and Nick got bored by their dads’ leisurely pace after five minutes and sprinted ahead to the rides. If they come back without whiplash or having barfed it’ll be a miracle.

Glenn is leading Robin away from yet another carnival game operator he’s gotten into a discussion with. Once they’re clear, Glenn pulls him into an unused corner behind the spin-art stand for a lecture. “You don’t have to apologize to every single one for not wanting to play, man. Just give ‘em a nod and keep walking.”

“That feels rude,” Robin protests. 

Glenn does a full-body eyeroll. “It’s fine. Relax. Your vibes are all wrong for a shady midway, baby.” He sizes up the hidden corner they’ve found. “I have an idea.” 

Robin’s heart skips a beat, but he’s already shaking his head. The boys could be back at any minute. Glenn laughs at his reaction. “I think about more than one thing, you hedonist.” He fumbles in his jacket and pulls out a joint and lighter. He’s already got it lit before Robin can intercept him.

“Glenn!” Robin whispers, scandalized. He moves in closer to shield Glenn from the eyes of people walking by. “You can’t do that in public!”

Glenn exhales smoke straight up into Robin’s worried face. “Obviously, I can.” 

Robin coughs and laughs. “Okay, you’re right, nobody cares.” He makes a quick decision. “Give it here.”

Glenn raises his eyebrows, since Robin generally doesn’t partake. “No shit? All right, but be careful, it’s a lot stronger than the jazz cigarettes were back in your day.”

“Shut up,” Robin mutters as he sneaks a quick drag. He exhales, lets his shoulders drop a bit, hands it back to Glenn. Watches the lights of the Ferris wheel spin. 

“Mmm,” Glenn says with a satisfied sigh. “We’re so getting one of those deep-fried Snickers bars.”

Robin nods, reclaims the joint for another hit. “I miss smoking,” he says reflectively. “This is fine, but I’d kill for a Marlboro Red.” 

“I didn’t know you used to smoke.” Glenn sounds intrigued.

“Yeah, I quit before Connor was born,” Robin says. “Didn’t want to do that to his little lungs. But me going cold turkey and Penny with pregnancy hormones, holy hell. Still not sure how we survived that one.” 

He hands the joint back to Glenn, who finishes it off and disposes of it neatly. He wraps an arm around Robin’s waist as they walk back onto the midway. 

“So which was the substitute addiction?” Glenn asks as they stroll along. “The kinky shit or the crosswords?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Glenn huffs in irritation. “Introduce me to Penny, I’ll just ask her.” 

Robin laughs. “I’m going to. I’d very much enjoy hearing that conversation.” He’s feeling fond, a little maudlin even. “You’ll like her. The best parts of Connor are from Penelope.”

“I beg to differ,” Glenn says, but they’re at the food stand now and there’s no time to argue when they have to decide what irresponsibly delicious fried thing to order.

Once they’ve made their regrettable food choices, it’s time to explore the midway. After they’ve exhausted the possibilities of rigged games, airbrushed t-shirts and overpriced crystals, Glenn insists they go into an attraction that advertises itself as having over five hundred examples of the strange, shocking, and bizarre. Once they’ve paid and gone inside, it’s the standard assortment of unfortunate taxidermied monstrosities, alleged ghost photography, and sculptures made of weird stuff like candy and buttons. 

Glenn is dismissive of most of it. “Fake. Fake. Never happened. High school art project.” But it’s still fun to wander through together, getting grossed out and making fun of the less plausible stuff. They’re in the extremely cheesy, mannequin-filled torture chamber when Robin’s phone buzzes. He’d just picked Glenn up off the ground to threaten to stuff him in the Iron Maiden, but puts him down and looks at the text instead. 

“Boys are ready to meet up,” he reports. “They’ll be out front.”

“Sick,” Glenn says. “I’m ready to go anyway. These places never have the really good shit.” Given how depressing the two-headed calf was, Robin’s not sure he wants to see whatever Glenn considers the good shit. He’s probably happier not knowing.

Robin follows Glenn to the exit, which requires visitors to cross a narrow bridge through a tunnel-like room with glowing lights all over its rapidly spinning walls. Maybe it’s the residual high or the greasy food, but Robin’s vertigo kicks in and he makes a grab for the railing. Glenn immediately notices. “What’s up?”

Robin’s keeping his eyes closed to try to re-balance himself, but the different colors are still flashing in his vision. “Little dizzy, sorry. I’ll catch up.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna abandon you in the swirling vortex,” Glenn scoffs. Robin feels a hand slip into his. “Cover your eyes, I got you.”

Robin uses his free hand to cover his eyes, blocking out the whirling lights, and Glenn leads him carefully across the bridge. At first Robin’s still unsteady. Then he focuses on the warm hand in his, and the firm ground under his feet, and the world snaps back into alignment. From that point forward it’s easy, and they run through the tunnel and back onto the midway, laughing like they’re getting away with something. 

When Robin feels the outdoor air and opens his eyes again, the boys are just walking up. Connor is carrying Nick piggyback, they’re wearing matching light-up cowboy hats and Nick is clearly the worse for wear. 

“Nick, are you okay?” Robin asks. 

“We should have quit while we were ahead on El Chupacabra,” Connor explains. “Tossed the funnel cakes. Went one more time, though.”

Glenn holds up his hand for a shaky high-five from Nick. “Boot and rally, way to go.”

“Time to go home,” Robin says, but as everyone protests, a noisy screech and pop draws their attention. It’s the opening salvo of a barrage of fireworks, and they walk back toward the car slowly, watching the show. Nick looks like he’s about to fall asleep, but Connor seems to be carrying him easily. Robin realizes he still hasn’t let go of Glenn’s hand. He gives it a squeeze and gets a silent squeeze back. It feels right.


	8. Chapter 8

**_Robin_ **

One weekend, Robin is working in his home office while Glenn is off at a soccer tournament with Nick. His phone rings, and it’s Glenn. He picks up right away in case it’s an emergency. “Hey, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Hey, fucker,” Glenn says. “Quick question.”

Robin stands up to stretch his back out. “Okay?”

“Picture how hot I am already and then picture how hot I would be if I had magic powers.” 

“That’s not a question. Are you okay? What’s happening?” 

“I’m fine, me and some of the dads went through a portal or some shit, we’re just fucking around in another world. Nick joined a gang. You want anything?”

“Nick joined a gang?”

“Yeah, but then he disappeared, we’re going to go get him.” 

“You _lost Nick?”_

“I know where he is, I’m just not there yet. Can we get dim sum when I get back? Some dim sum would punish right now.”

There’s a rustling and Robin hears a voice wherever Glenn is. “Glenn, who are you talking to?

”Robin,” Glenn replies to whoever.

“Who’s Robin?” 

“You know, Connor’s dad.”

“Who’s Connor?”

“Glenn. Gorgeous. Hey,” Robin says, raising his voice. “Put Nick on the phone, Glenn. Glenn. Put Nick on the phone. Put Nick or any adult on the phone right now, please. _Glenn.”_

There’s the telltale beeping of the call losing connection, and when Robin tries to dial back, he gets a “this number is not in service” message. That’s worrisome.

Robin sticks his head out of the office. “Connor?”

“Yeah?” Connor yells from the other end of the apartment.

“Kiddo, does Glenn get real weird on mushrooms?”

“Yeah, if he mixes ‘em with downers.”

“Okay, thanks.” 

Robin checks his phone one more time, gives up, goes back to work. He’ll text later and make sure Nick doesn’t need to be picked up. 

**_Glenn_ **

They’ve been in the forgotten realms for a month now, and Glenn is pretty sure he never wants to step foot in a van ever again. He’s going to need a serious refractory period from ever carpooling with the Wilsons once they get out of this joint. The amount of nights he’s slept in the back seat of this car makes him think he doesn’t remember what a real bed feels like. Has he ever experienced a real bed? Or a pillow, for that matter? Doesn’t feel like it.

He doesn’t know what time it is, but he’s watching the stars through Odyssey-san’s open sunroof, and has been for quite some time. His mind hasn’t stuck in a particular place for too long—hoping Nick is in good hands, if they have good food in Neverwinter, do you actually have to wash leather jackets or is that just a myth. He shifts on the seat and ignores the squeaking of the leather underneath him, but watches Henry in the front to make sure he didn’t wake him up. The last thing he needs is someone fretting over his lack of sleep right then.

Speaking of fretting. He wonders how much time has passed in their world, and if Robin is concerned about him at all. The last he checked, it was the same day as when they disappeared, so for all he knows, it was… what? Sunday? He’s not good at math. That’s specifically Robin’s job.

But that’s a perfectly reasonable amount of time for him to be gone. He’s disappeared for longer and with less warning, so who’s to say that he’s not just hanging out with his son for a while? Glenn tracks a particularly fast-moving cloud as it crosses the small rectangle of sky he can see. It’s amazing what a sky without light pollution looks like, and his chest aches when he realizes that Robin’s not there to see it with him. He’d probably comment on something mundane like how fast the wind would have to be going for the cloud to move like that, or point at something and trick Glenn into thinking that there’s _definitely_ a constellation that looks like Nessie, just look _harder._

Glenn bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at the image. He’ll have to tell Robin that when he gets back. There are a lot of things he’s been keeping tabs on to tell Robin, he realizes. David Boreanaz is in this world, and he sucks ass. Everyone thinks the minivan is a beast. There are _no_ road safety precautions, like, at all. Nobody knows who ABBA is, but they also don’t know who The Doors are, so it’s a real double-edged sword. Robin would love it in Neverwinter, but only because of the orgy pit. Robin would slap him for that one (if he was lucky). He just wants to talk to Robin, really. 

Oh, _fuck_. Glenn snaps upright and stares at himself in the rearview mirror. _Fuck_ , does he love Robin? 

His heart is in his ears, and the only person he wants to complain about this reaction to _is_ Robin. If he wasn’t sure before, well it’s crystal fucking clear now.

Henry, who is somehow the lightest sleeper in the world, blinks and squints at the sudden movement.

“Everything alright?” he whispers, and Glenn lets out a sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, just,” Glenn situates himself back in the chair and clears his throat, “yup. All good.”

Somehow, by some whim, Henry believes him enough to curl back up in the front seat. Glenn taps his finger against his stomach anxiously, thinking through all the ways to break the news to Robin that he might, in fact, love him. Jump out of a cake. Say it so fast that Robin doesn’t notice. Tell Connor and wait for the repercussions. Simply don’t.

He decides to risk it all and pull out his phone. He’s been very good about not using it, and when he turns it on, he damn near blinds himself with it. Shoving it hastily in his pocket, he slides out of the trunk of the van (quietest door, Ron sleeps like he’s in a coma back there) and walks a decent distance away before calling Robin.

“Glenn?” Robin says as he picks up, “Glenn, what happened before? Is Nick okay?”

Shit. When did he call Robin last? What was his story there?

“He’s fine, we’re almost back to the kids now, no sweat.” Robin sighs on the other end of the phone.

“It’s early. Are you okay?”

Early. So, it’s the next day. That’s good.

“I’m great, dude. Can I tell you something?”

“Of course. What’s going on?” Robin sounds so calm. Glenn’s stomach flips.

“Do you remember the Stormtrooper that Luke stole the armor from in episode four? Turns out he was gay and in a relationship with Grand Moff Tarkin. Been thinking about that a lot.”

Robin leans away from his phone and laughs, and Glenn grins at his feet as he scuffs the ground absentmindedly. They talk for a few moments about the logistics of keeping that relationship secret, and Glenn glances at the battery on his phone.

“Look, I gotta bounce, but I’ll see you when I get back.”

“Of course you will,” Robin chuckles, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Glenn gnaws at his bottom lip. He could drop it in, hang up the phone, and deal with the consequences later. But, if anything, Robin’s a bit of a stickler about avoiding the consequences to your actions.

“Alright, bye.”

“Bye, hurry back, it’s boring without you.”

Seriously, how does Glenn keep letting him get away with that shit? Who says that casually? Despite everything, Glenn’s heart is pounding away in his chest. “You’re damn right it is. I’m a delight to be around.”

Robin laughs, says goodbye, and hangs up the phone. It takes every bone in Glenn’s body to keep himself from throwing his phone into the wilderness forever. Instead, he heads back to Odyssey-san and counts the stars to try and go to sleep.

**_Robin_ **

Penelope and Robin are having their monthly lunch at their favorite Szechuan place. Initially it’d been a necessary routine for coordinating the divorce and Connor’s stuff, then it’d become just something they both looked forward to. They did work as friends again, it turned out. Eventually. 

Robin tentatively drops a few mentions of Glenn into the conversation, as circumstances warrant. _When Glenn and I were at the grocery store the other day. When Glenn was telling me about this insane theory. When I was picking Glenn up from the airport._

Penny’s been more successful at getting out there post-divorce than he has. Generally, he gets set up with people, goes on a few dates, and never pursues things further. That kind of interaction doesn’t seem worth mentioning at these lunches. 

Glenn feels worth mentioning, but that in itself is fraught. Even if Penny has no interest in being his partner, the next person who gets even close to long-term with him is bound to be of interest to her. God knows he’d scrutinized her first post-divorce boyfriend and tallied up all the ways in which they were similar and different. Comparing Glenn and Penny though, is beyond comparing apples and oranges, and he doesn’t know what she’ll possibly make of this cryptic entity that she’s mainly heard about through Connor. 

So because fretting is his default, he’s fretting about what might happen if she decides to dunk on Glenn. But as it turns out, she just listens, and laughs, and gives him a slightly hard time without sending him into a crisis spiral, and all in all it’s about as good as a lunch could be where you tell your ex-wife about your new boyfriend.

After they’ve settled up the bill, Penny cracks open her fortune cookie and trades the fortune with his, an old superstition they developed years ago. “Expect much of yourself and little of others,” she reads, adding from habit, “in bed.” 

He reads his. “Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win.” 

“In bed,” Penny says automatically. He sees her face assume that little half-smile she makes when she’s going to start some trouble. That’s absolutely where Connor got it and it strikes dread into him no matter which one of them is doing it. “So about this Glenn,” she says, “I have a little bet going with myself.”

“Okay?” he replies, heart sinking. Things had been going too well, he knew it. 

“I don’t want details,” she says. “Just tell me if his reaction to the footlocker in the closet was positive or negative.” 

Robin nearly chokes. “Positive,” he mutters as he stares at the broken cookie bits in his hands. 

Penny nods smugly. “Called it. I’m happy for you.” 

“Thank… you?” Robin searches for a way to change the subject. “He’s at a soccer tournament right now, so I haven’t gotten to see him for a few days.”

Penny laughs. “I can’t even imagine how lovey-dovey you get when you _have_ seen him recently.”

“Lovey-dovey?”

“Infatuated, smitten, taken with, enamored, besotted…”

“All right, all right, I get it. Still recovering from SAT prep with Connor, huh?”

“Little bit.” 

Robin thinks back to what he thought were subtle mentions and were, perhaps, not as subtle as he imagined. “I’m talking about him that much?”

“Pop quiz, Mr. Wright, that case I’ve been working on all month required me to take an emergency trip to…”

He’s drawing a blank, makes an informed but wild guess. “The embassy.”

She narrows her eyes. “Whose embassy?” 

“The, uh…” He hangs his head. 

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

They get up from the table and she takes his arm as they walk out. “Well, when you come up for air, I’d like to meet him. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time.” 

Penny’s right, and it’s bittersweet to hear it from her. He’s gotten like this exactly once before, and they ended up married for the better part of thirty years. That’s… something he needs to think about.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a description of a panic attack, heads up in case that’s not good for you.

**_Robin_ **

Glenn comes back from the soccer tournament and he’s different. 

It takes a few days for their schedules to line up with Nick being out of the house, which means it takes a few days for Robin to get more of an explanation than “long story, man.” In the end, the long story takes most of the day to tell, and they don’t do much besides hang out in bed and discuss this alleged otherworldly adventure. (With some breaks for sex, because Glenn’s certainly as horny as if he’s been gone for a long time.) The longer the story goes on, and the more characters and settings get added, the more worried Robin gets. Glenn’s clearly actually remembering something, and it’s something that has internal consistency and a ludicrous amount of detail. 

It also apparently involves other dads from the soccer tournament and their sons, including Nick. Robin’s seen Nick briefly since the tournament, and the kid seems fine, but Robin can’t come up with any discreet way to pull aside a 13-year-old and ask him whether his dad (and possibly some other dads? And god forbid, maybe the kids?) went on an epic acid trip during a children’s sporting event. 

Robin thinks through various interpretations as he listens. The easy explanation with Glenn is drugs, of course, but that doesn’t feel right. There’s a way that Glenn tells a fun trip story, and this isn’t that. Then as the afternoon wears on, and Glenn is describing frankly horrific events as though they’re hilarious, Robin starts to seriously consider whether he needs to get Glenn to some kind of hospital. 

“And that killed the... chimera?” 

“Yeah, Grant was totally covered with blood, it was sick.”

“Were you still playing the hate guitar to help?”

“No, I dropped it when I got all sliced up.”

But in the end, as Glenn’s explaining how they resolved the whole mess and came back to Earth, Robin finds himself paying attention to Glenn’s tone and body language instead of his precise words. He’s desperately trying to get all the pieces to fit together and failing, but he senses that Glenn is expecting a response from him. 

“Here’s where I’m at,” Robin says hesitantly. “I don’t think you’ve lost touch with reality.”

“Oh, thanks for that,” Glenn says irritably. 

“But this is a lot to take in,” Robin continues. “I’m not going to lie and say that the whole thing makes sense to me, but I believe that you went through something, and it was important and real for you. Can that be enough for right now? And I’ll keep working on the rest?”

Glenn shrugs, gets up from the bed. “Close enough. It doesn’t matter. I’m going to get something to eat.” Robin watches him leave with a sinking feeling. 

The next weekend, they’re in the kitchen, getting some things together for brunch. Glenn’s friends are coming over today. Specifically, the friends he alleges were a part of his otherworldly escapade. Robin is vibrating with nervous energy. He’s heard very little information about these three that he fully believes, and he’s acutely aware that he’s going to be dissecting everything they say for insight into what he’s come to mentally refer to as “the soccer tournament thing.” 

He and Glenn haven’t discussed the bizarre story since that first time. While they’ve more or less settled back into their familiar routine in the past week, whatever happened while Glenn was gone is a missing stair that’s getting harder to step over. That’s quite the extra layer to add to the basic stress of being introduced to Glenn’s friends. At least Connor’s taken Nick out somewhere so they don’t have to worry about the boys as well.

He’s particularly nervous about Ron. He can somewhat envision the other two, but in his mind’s eye at this point, Ron is simply an ambulatory question mark. With a knife.

“So,” Robin says, shooting for a casual tone. “What exactly did you tell your friends about me?” 

“That I’m catfishing you,” Glenn says absently. He’s finished cutting up the fruit and is eyeing the prosciutto plate with intent. 

“That’s not really how catfishing works,” Robin muses as he moves the plate out of Glenn’s reach. 

“That’s what you think, sucker. All part of the plan.” Glenn gives him a hug from behind, resting his cheek against Robin’s back. “It’s fine, I said you’re cool.”

“But I’m not cool.”

“You’re not _cool,_ but like, you’re cool.”

When they arrive, he gets a firm handshake from Darryl, a big hug from Henry, an unsettling stare from Ron. They quickly fall into comfortable conversation about mundane life updates and running jokes. Robin can’t really find a way to squeeze into the discussion, but he doesn’t mind. He’s enjoying the chance to sit back with his coffee and watch them interact. He’s not sure how or why they became friends, but they clearly are. And they obviously love Glenn, so he likes them. 

So far nobody’s said anything to confirm or refute the story Glenn told about the tournament. Then Ron makes an off-handed reference to returning library books, and the dynamic shifts abruptly. Henry nearly does a spit take and Darryl looks at Robin with undisguised alarm. 

Glenn waves his hand dismissively. “I told him about the whole thing, fellas, no worries.” 

This doesn’t immediately inspire confidence in the others, and their guarded reaction puts a chill down Robin’s spine. They’re not responding like people who are indulging a friend’s delusion, or like co-conspirators who want to convince him of anything. They act like people who went through something big together and aren’t sure whether he can be trusted. Glenn in particular, despite his casual words, has gotten very quiet and still.

He’s been trying so hard to believe Glenn. This is the first time he’s started to actually think that it may all be real. And that scares him. He takes a sip of water to buy time. When he puts the glass back down, he clips the edge of a plate and the glass shatters in his hand, spilling water across the table. “Oh shit, I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I’ll get a cloth.” 

When Robin gets to the kitchen though, he just stands there leaning on the counter with both hands, his head bowed. He’s trying to get himself under control, but his heart is racing and he feels very cold.

He hears a footstep behind him. He turns expectantly, but it’s Henry, not Glenn, who has come to check on him. Robin doesn’t know this guy at all, but his face is sympathetic and Robin desperately needs somebody to talk to right now.

“It can’t be real,” Robin says, his voice breaking a little. “But it’s real?”

Henry sighs. “It’s real. I’m sorry. It’s not easy for us either.”

Robin gestures at the painfully mundane kitchen around them, visions of magic and monsters leaping from his imagination. “And now you’re just… having brunch at my place?”

”When it was happening, we sort of just kept moving and dealt with everything as it came up. Then we came back and... You can’t really think about it all the time, you just have to get back to your life, but it sticks with you. Darryl still has nightmares.” 

Henry looks down at his hands. “We all did what we had to do, and we got the boys back, but it wasn’t always pretty. Heck, Glenn almost died, did he tell you that?”

Robin shakes his head silently. He can’t speak. 

“I’ll clear us all out of here so you can talk. We’ll do this another time.” Henry hesitates. “He doesn’t want to talk about this, but he needs to, I think.”

Robin nods. “I know.”

Once the others clear out, Robin does his best to compose himself and goes to find Glenn. Glenn’s smoking in bed, which he’s not supposed to do at Robin’s place, and doesn’t look up when Robin comes in. He looks like he’s just messing around on his phone, but Robin’s picking up a weird energy. Glenn’s breathing too fast and his foot is jiggling nervously. 

“Hey,” Robin says quietly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, just dicking around.” 

“You seem upset.”

“I’m fine.” 

Robin sits at the head of the bed next to him. This close, he can tell that Glenn’s actually trembling and there’s a fine sheen of sweat on his chest. His default indifferent body language is layered very thinly over what looks like a full-on panic attack. 

Glenn’s face is tense and pale. Stripped of his normal expressiveness, he looks his age for once. “Guess I’m just processing that my boyfriend thinks I’m insane but that Ron Stampler’s a fuckin’ beacon of truth and rationality.”

Robin can’t even enjoy hearing Glenn say “boyfriend” for the first time. He rubs his face with his hand, sighs. “I’ve been trying, I promise. But it’s so much, Glenn. It’s a lot to get my head around.” 

He takes Glenn’s hand cautiously in his own, squeezes it gently to stop it from shaking. “I do believe you. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize it was so bad. Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Fuck it, whatever,” Glenn says. “I can’t do anything about it now. I’m not going to let it ruin more of my day than it already has, let’s move on.” 

He reaches for Robin’s belt. “The boys won’t be back for an hour, let’s fool around.”

“Glenn, no,” Robin says. He catches Glenn’s hand and holds it between both of his own. “You’re clearly not okay. We need to talk about this.”

“We already talked about this,” Glenn snaps. “I don’t have anything else to say about any of it.” He jerks his hand away from Robin. “I’m not going to camp out in my, my _trauma_ or whatever just to help you process some shit that didn’t even happen to you.”

Robin is stunned. “Glenn, it’s not me that I’m worried about. You look like you’re about to throw up or pass out. You’re so pale.”

Glenn pushes himself off the bed. “Sorry for not being fully fuckable at the moment, Robin, I’ll get out of your way. My bad.” He’s out the door before Robin can react, and the front door slams a moment later. 

Glenn doesn’t come back that afternoon, or that night, or the next day. Robin tries texting, calling, going next door and knocking. For as much good as it does, Glenn may as well have fallen through another portal. (Actually, Robin is a little worried about that possibility now.) After 48 hours, he gets desperate enough to ask Connor for insight. 

Connor scrolls back through his texts. “Yeah, Nick asked me to call him in sick to school. Looks like they went to Disneyland.” 

He clocks his father’s dumbfounded expression. “In crisis, Glenn grabs Nick and runs. I’ve forged so many doctor’s notes that the school thinks Nick has a chronic disease.” 

Connor looks a little embarrassed. “Specifically, they think he has extremely dank bone disorder, because I didn’t realize the first time that I was setting up a fiction that I was going to have to maintain for the next couple of years.”

Robin has no response to this. 

“They’re still years away from a cure, unfortunately,” Connor says.

“Kiddo, just please remember that under California law, I can be compelled to testify against you. And your mom doesn’t do criminal cases.”

Connor waves this off. “I have somebody, don’t worry about it. And try not to worry about Glenn, he usually comes back within a week or so. I’ll clear out the fridge so nothing gets too nasty over there.” 

Robin sits down and takes this all in. That’s the fridge and school taken care of, but he can’t exactly ask Connor to figure the rest out for them. His stomach twists as he replays their last interaction. He has some ideas for handling it better next time, starting with not doubting Glenn again, no matter how weird the story. He just needs there to be a next time.


	10. Chapter 10

**_Glenn_ **

They decide, on the third day of their trip, that breakfast in the hotel is worth it, but only for the people-watching opportunities. "Susan looks more excited to see Daisy Duck than her shitty kid is," Glenn points out, and Nick doesn't even bother being subtle when looking over. They figured out the rules of the game pretty quickly: if there's a character with an amusing person to watch, subtlety is unnecessary.

"That kid looks like she's miserable," Nick agrees, "and will probably hate ducks forever."

"They've got weird dicks. Everyone should hate ducks." Glenn tries not to think further of Donald Duck's late night love-making sessions with Daisy, and fails miserably.

"Also," Nick continues, "isn't it weird that their last name is just 'Duck'? Or 'Mouse'? That's just like… what if our last name was 'Human'."

He makes a fair point. "Glenn Human," Glenn says, and scrunches his nose. "Terrible mouthfeel."

Glenn breaks out in a grin as he gets an idea. Nick knows what that look means better than anyone.

"Dad, no. Dad. What are you about to do?"

Glenn pushes himself away from the table and stands. "Don't move."

Nick is protesting as Glenn finds a waitress, and she looks way too happy to see him approaching. Poor girl. He hopes Disney's frozen head pays her well.

"It's my son's birthday today, is there any way that you guys can do something? I would prefer a Gaston appearance but really, any would do."

She looks over at the table Glenn just came from, and he presumes that Nick is desperately trying to get her not to listen by gesturing frantically. She hesitates, probably because getting your spawn celebrated by the Disney machine requires six months notice and a blood pact or something, but people tend to want to bend the rules a little for Glenn. "I'm… sure we can get someone special to swing by."

Glenn winks at her and smiles. "Excellent. Take your time, we're in no rush today."

As Nick's ordered breakfast gets delivered, a whole gaggle of college-age children come along with it. His pancakes have been tarted up with vivid frosting and candles, and trailing not too far behind them is Stitch in a lei. Oh, this even better than Glenn could have planned— _Lilo and Stitch_ freaked Nick out when he was really little. Glenn's almost positive he still harbors some anger for the poor blue guy.

Nick's bright pink and has his head in his hands: they finish singing, they're all cheering, Stitch is making some monstrous _noise_ , and Glenn's experiencing true bliss. He pulls his phone out and takes a few pictures in media res, before turning to Stitch himself.

"I think he would really like a picture with you."

“ _Dad,"_ Nick hisses, and Glenn snaps a picture of his wide-eyed terror for posterity.

Stitch gives Nick bunny ears for their picture, and Glenn is doing everything not to burst out laughing as he takes it. It takes a few tries for him to get a clear picture because of it. Glenn thanks the group profusely, and gives Stitch a firm handshake.

"Thank you for your service."

He's not really paying attention as Nick tears him a new one over this stunt, he's busy sorting through the pictures to find the best ones. He figures Connor would want some ammunition, or at least Robin would get a kick out of it. He's about to send a few pictures to their designated group chat (which Connor named _the boys have been in town_ , but changes consistently), when he remembers everything that went down. He's been making a point to ignore any and all forms of communication from the Wrights, and a cursory glance at some of the messages means he's made things a hell of a lot worse.

"...and you're dead to me, and I hate you," Nick finishes, and Glenn snaps his head up.

"What? Oh. Yeah, I'm terribly sorry."

Glenn shuts his phone back off and hastily shoves it back into his jeans pocket.

"So," Glenn clears his throat. "What's on the docket?"

On paper, today is their most boring day of the trip. Somehow, even on a Tuesday during the school year the park is jam-packed, so they decide to try and shoot for the more popular rides. Glenn nearly gets into it with a worker who says the lines "aren't as long as they could be,” but Nick drags him away before any harsh words can be exchanged. Poor sucker has to walk around with a trash stick all day. Glenn decides that that's punishment enough.

Space Mountain becomes their mission, and they try to attack it at prime time. Glenn makes it his job to keep checking the line times as they wander around the park, and he's set a perimeter. They wait close enough to sprint to get in line, but try and keep themselves busy throughout. When the line gets particularly short (comparatively), they make a break for it, and end up planning for the next day while they're standing in line.

"Do you think anyone's tried to hit all the mascots in one day?" Nick offers.

"Absolutely. I wonder how many have done it."

"Well, we've got a good chunk under our belts," Nick offers, "You already harassed me with Stitch and at least five others."

Glenn places his hands on Nick's shoulders to steer him forward in line. "Photographic evidence, man. You know what I say about that."

Nick scoffs under his breath, and Glenn rocks him side to side absently.

"Cheer up, kiddo, you're not scared of _all_ of them."

"I'm not scared of them," Nick argues.

"They're scary!" Glenn laughs, and a small child in line in front of them, a girl no older than six, pokes her head out from behind her mother.

"I'm scared of them, too," she mumbles, and Nick turns to look up at Glenn with a pleading look.

"Great. You made me sound like a five-year-old."

"I'm six!" the girl says proudly, and Glenn lets go of Nick with a laugh.

Space Mountain doesn't scare Nick as much as it has in previous years, and Glenn is oddly proud as they exit the ride. Nick is chattering away about something, but Glenn is watching the kid as he jogs ahead, waits for him to catch up, and repeats the process. One of the first times he got Nick on the ride, when he was around seven, Nick insisted on being carried on the way out. Whether it was the lights or the actual ride, Glenn could never tell, but it definitely shook him up enough that the next time they went on a roller coaster, Glenn had to bribe him onto it. Glenn's glad he got over that one, though. It means he can take him on the cool shit now.

The rest of the day, not much happens. Nick tries to flex his basketball chops, but both of them know good and well they're not tall enough to ever be incredible at the sport. Glenn applauds him for trying to be the first Close man to go pro, at least.

A passing glance at Glenn's checking account on the way back up to the room for the night means they order pizza, and Nick ends up picking out a horror movie for them to watch. He says that there's some kind of beautiful irony of watching something so awful in a children's themed hotel, and Glenn doesn't have it in him to argue with that logic. Got it from his dad, after all.

He must nod off sometime during the set-up of whatever curse plagues this movie, because his head snaps up at a particularly loud theremin screech. Nick, who has taken to partially hiding his face behind Glenn’s bicep, jumps at the sudden movement, and glares at him in return. Despite Glenn’s best efforts, he can’t catch up with the plot, and ends up focused more on technique. Why would Love Interest lock himself in the bathroom? Why does this ghoul excrete goo? This isn’t _Ghostbusters,_ ghouls can’t just make slime all willy-nilly. He feels bad for the makeup department. Or the special effects team. Probably both.

Lead Blonde escapes and hugs Love Interest, sobbing about their shared ghoul-based trauma as some corny music plays, and Nick finally unfurls himself from Glenn’s side.

“Alright, I’m calling it,” Nick says around a yawn, and slides off the bed. “You going?”

Glenn nods, but keeps watching as the credits roll. “Yeah, go brush your teeth.”

Nick hums and leaves Glenn alone with his thoughts. As much as he doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to remember anything from the Forgotten Realms past his friendship with the other dads, he finds himself thinking about Nick’s reaction to learning he almost died. A real bummer to end a great night, he knows, but… the image of Nick clinging onto him, arms nearly choking Glenn around his neck, as he cried about not being able to lose him, too, isn’t something he can shake so easily. Glenn forces himself up and shuts the TV off as Nick returns and dives gracefully onto the other bed.

Glenn goes about his business getting himself ready for bed, and tries not to get too deep in his own head. Once he’s changed he goes toward Nick’s bed, who doesn’t so much as react when he sits by his side.

“I love you, kid,” Glenn mutters, and Nick grumbles in response. The “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon” goes unspoken. It usually does, nowadays.

“Love you too. Can I go to bed now?”

Glenn drops a kiss to the back of Nick’s head, pats his shoulder on the way up. He gives into the urge to glance back at him before he settles into his own bed; some of the tension from Glenn’s shoulders drops knowing that Nick is okay—well, working towards being okay. They all are, in their own ways, working towards being okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was done before episode 25 and we were very impressed with ourselves for calling Disney Glenn in advance.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mature content in this chapter.

**_Robin_ **

Robin works so hard on not constantly checking whether Glenn’s home that he misses it when it does happen. Connor knocks on his office door, carrying a laundry basket full of sheets and towels. “The Close boys got home this afternoon. Can you take this over? I don’t want to walk into that mess until you two have worked it all out.”

Robin sighs. “That’s fair. I’m almost done here, just leave it by the door.”

“This is yours, though,” Connor says, and tosses a neatly folded blue shirt from the basket onto Robin’s desk. “Sorry that took so long. Heather had a family emergency and got behind on laundry for a while.” He sees Robin’s blank expression. “I just do the clothes, Dad, Heather does the linens and towels.”

“You have a... subcontractor?” 

“Of course I have a subcontractor, you’ve seen our tiny-ass washing machine.” Connor scoffs. “You’d rather I was the one washing Glenn’s sheets?”

“Oh, God, no. No, no, no.” 

_“Anyway,”_ Connor continues. “I’m pretty sure that’s your shirt. It must have been inside a pillowcase or something. I texted Glenn about it and he told me to come back with a warrant, so… there you go.” He looks like he’s debating something internally, then adds, “Don’t hurt him, Dad.” 

Robin starts to protest and then sees the look in Connor’s eyes and drops it. He knows damn well what Connor’s talking about. So he just nods.

Not long later, he’s finally able to get up the nerve to knock on Glenn’s door, armed with dinner. After blithely walking in and out of each other’s homes for so long, he feels like a stranger again. He’s spent too much time over the past week standing here without a response. When the door finally opens, it’s startling. 

Robin had slightly hoped that Glenn would look like he’d been staying up all night worrying too, but instead he just looks frustratingly good, as usual. Slightly sunburned and unshaven, wearing soft pants and a big t-shirt.

“Hey, man. Why are you here?” Glenn asks. It’s not aggressive, he sounds genuinely mystified. 

“Because I know you need to eat?” Robin offers. “And I wanted to see you once you got settled back in.”

He holds up the bag, half-apologetic. “I didn’t have time to cook, so I just went by the good taco truck. Probably better now than it’s going to be later. Can I come in?”

Glenn opens the door and steps out of the way, saying nothing. Robin sits down in the living room, trying to find a relatively neutral space for whatever conversation they’re going to have. He has no real plan except bringing food and not making sudden movements.

“Is Nick home?” he asks. “I brought enough for him.”

Glenn shakes his head and sits down across from him. “Getting school notes from his friend.” 

Robin has to admit he’s a little relieved. They need some uninterrupted time. He takes a paper napkin from the bag and starts tearing it into strips, not sure where to start. 

Glenn cuts in before Robin figures it out. “So what, you want to get back together?”

Robin’s stomach drops and he has to take a minute to compose himself. This kind of thing has happened before. It’s a lot more likely that he’s dealing with moon man Glenn, who legitimately doesn’t understand, than a Glenn who’s suddenly discovered how to be passive aggressive. They had a similar discussion about Glenn painting his nails black while sitting on Robin’s white couch. 

“We… didn’t break up,” he ventures cautiously. “Usually you have to tell somebody you’re breaking up with them. You can’t just go to Disneyland for a week with your phone turned off. Or at least not with me, I’m old-fashioned.”

Glenn looks dubious. “But we had a fight, and I was a dick.” 

“You were—“ Robin sighs. “You were upset, and I was a mess and wasn’t as helpful as I wish I’d been. We should talk about what I can do next time.”

“Next time,” echoes Glenn. 

“Yes, next time,” Robin says. “The whole portal thing clearly did a number on you, and that doesn’t just go away overnight.” He tries to slow down a bit, because Glenn is looking tense. “But whatever you end up needing as you work through it, I’d like to be there.” 

He feels suddenly very tired and helpless. “If you’d let me, I guess.”

“Yeah, okay.”

It’s such a neutral, shrugged-off response that it takes Robin a second to catch what’s been said. “Wait. What?”

“I said yeah,” Glenn says. “Stick around. I’ll allow it.” 

He gets up from where he’s sitting across the room, ambles over and plops himself down on top of Robin in the armchair. Glenn laughs at Robin’s pained grunt as he drops into his lap. “Aw, suck it up.”

Robin’s speechless with relief and a little tearful (and a little winded from having Glenn land on him), but he tries to pull himself together as he puts his arms around Glenn. “So what were your plans for the evening, since you didn’t think I was coming over?”

Glenn looks slightly embarrassed, for once. “I had kinda figured that fucking things up with you meant I’d fucked them up with Connor, too. So I was doing some laundry. All our stuff from the trip was kinda rank.”

Robin laughs. “How did that go? The building’s still standing, so…”

Glenn sits up in protest. “Hey, fuck you, I did fine.” When Robin still looks dubious, he jumps up and stalks toward the laundry room. “Come here, look at this.” Robin follows him and indeed, the laundry room has a basket of unfolded but clean and dry clothes. 

It also has another notable item. “Why is there a box of trash on the dryer with ‘Robin’ written on it? Trying to tell me something?”

“I was trying to do the thing where you give the box of stuff back after a breakup, but you don’t usually leave that much here. So I ended up just throwing a lot of junk in there on top because I was mad.”

Robin is pretty sure there’s not a single item that actually belongs to him among the food wrappers, random sex paraphernalia, and junk mail. (There’s also a six months overdue jury duty notice for Glenn that he should probably bring up later.) He digs into the box and pulls out a pink blindfold and a pair of fuzzy handcuffs disdainfully. “These are not mine.” 

“Whose are they, then?”

“I’m trying not to speculate. That does remind me, though,” Robin muses. “You probably don’t know about makeup sex.”

“It’s a specialty of mine,” Glenn says immediately. 

“How? You’ve never apologized for anything in your life.” 

“Shut up, is how.”

Robin grins at that and pulls Glenn into a tight hug, kissing him on top of his head.

“Okay, fine, you’re the best. Can you show me how you do it sometime? Maybe give me a few pointers?”

“Yeah, but only because I’m really nice.” Glenn pulls Robin down for a kiss. 

“Oh, right now? Okay.” The kiss goes swiftly from affectionate to passionate, and Robin backs up into the washing machine as Glenn presses into him. He notices one of Glenn’s arms has left his waist and is fumbling around in the box on the dryer. “What are you doing?”

In a smooth motion, Glenn slips the blindfold over Robin’s eyes and ties it snug. Robin laughs. “I’m serious, this isn’t mine.”

He hears Glenn’s voice soft and close to his ear. “Stop worrying about it.” He gives Robin a little push so he’ll sit back on the lid of the washing machine. Robin can feel Glenn stepping between his legs, and he tilts his face blindly, searching for the kiss. It lands on his mouth softly and gentle arms pull him in close. 

They started out so hungry for each other and that desire is there still, but it’s tempered now with the trust and knowledge that they can truly take their time. Glenn begins to undress him slowly, kissing gently everywhere he uncovers. Every beat of it draws Robin’s heightened senses to a different part of his body - the gentle touch of fingers, the slide and slither of fabric, the warm breath on his skin, the soft lips, the darting tongue.

Eventually they end up at a more prosaic moment where Robin has to stand up, still blindfolded, and try to get out of his pants and underwear with Glenn’s help. “Oh, this is how I die,” he says helplessly as he balances on one foot. 

“Doing what you loved,” Glenn counters. 

Robin sits back down on the washer and yelps when his bare skin touches the metal lid. “Dammit, that’s cold.” He fumbles for a towel to sit on. “Jesus, sorry. Carry on.” 

He can tell Glenn’s trying not to laugh, and hears rustling as he undresses himself. “How dare you mock me, this is _your_ plan,” Robin says indignantly. “There’s a perfectly good bed right down the hall, you know.”

There’s a clatter as Glenn digs in the breakup box for something. “All in good time,” he says. “Right now, I’m busy.” 

One hand rests on Robin’s thigh as the other slicks something cool and slippery over his length. Robin groans as Glenn strokes him in a lazy, teasing rhythm, a counterpoint to the slow tangle of their tongues and lips. He’s hard and aching already. It’s been too long.

Glenn twists his hand along and up a few more times, fast enough to make Robin suck in his breath, then moves his hand down between Robin’s legs. “Wait.” Robin says. “Is this mystery lube that you were going to make me throw away?”

“Bitch, bitch, bitch,” Glenn says. He’s moving his fingers in small circles, increasing the pressure slowly. “I’m sure I can find a gag in there, too.”

“I’ll be good,” Robin says. He reaches out with his hand to find Glenn’s shoulder, then brings his mouth to his throat for one of those bruising love bites that drive Glenn crazy. As he nips at the tender flesh, he feels a teasing hard touch between his legs and tries to grind into it. Glenn pins him firmly and draws back. He huffs softly in frustration and Glenn laughs low. “What’s wrong?”

“I want you.”

”Yeah, I’d say so,” Glenn murmurs. “You missed this.” He presses in ever so slightly and begins to slide back and forth shallowly. 

Robin groans with need. “I missed you so much.” Glenn knows he likes a little pain at this point, and he’s gauged the prep just right for Robin to feel an delicious stretch and pinch as his body lets Glenn in. 

“Please, sweetheart,” he groans. 

“Please what?”

“Please fuck me.”

Glenn hooks an arm under his thigh, pulls him closer and grinds deeper into him. Their foreheads are brushing together and the blindfold is starting to slip down. Robin reaches up and pulls it all the way off. Right now he wants to see Glenn’s face. He wants to look in his eyes as they move together, and he wraps his hand around the back of Glenn’s neck to hold him.

Their eyes lock as Glenn rocks even deeper. He’s fully sheathed in Robin’s body now, every thrust dragging across that delicious sweet spot inside. His pupils are blown wide with lust and he’s looking deep into Robin’s eyes as he moves in him. Robin’s heart twists at the thought of not having those eyes in his life. “Please,” he says quietly. “Please, don’t run away from me again.”

“I’m right here, baby,” Glenn whispers, his breath coming faster. “I’m not going anywhere.” There’s an urgency now to their coupling, a desperation, the sense of passing a point of no return. There’s nothing but the noise of their movements and their small wordless sounds of pleasure. 

Robin can’t wait any longer and reaches down, barely touches himself before he’s coming hard and fast, spilling onto Glenn’s stomach. His body clenches tight around Glenn as he shudders in pleasure. He pulls him inside, holding him with arms and legs and everything like he’ll never let go. Glenn’s fingers tense on Robin’s thigh and he comes with a cry that’s almost a sob. He keeps rocking into Robin’s body for another few moments, riding out the wave, before slowing to a stop. 

They rest together, eyes closed, occasionally trading soft kisses as their breathing and heart rates slow down.

“Sorry for doubting your makeup sex skills,” Robin says. Glenn doesn’t say anything and Robin pulls back so he can see his face. “Are you okay?” Glenn nods, touches his lips to Robin’s briefly. 

“Did I break you?” Robin asks, “Is this what it takes to render Glenn Close speechless?”

“You’re such a dick,” Glenn mumbles quietly. 


	12. Chapter 12

**_Glenn_ **

Connor’s high school graduation is possibly - no, unquestionably the most boring event Glenn has ever attended. The kid had gotten them all tickets, and Robin said it was important, so now they’re all too dressed up for a Saturday morning and sitting in a venue that normally hosts, like, orchestra concerts. Plus Connor’s mom Penelope is here, and despite Robin’s vague promises, Glenn never did get an introduction to her before the quick greeting they managed today. With her here, the Close boys are outnumbered, and he feels like he and Nick look hella out of place. 

And he’s bored, he’s so bored. Nothing interesting has ever happened in this space, Glenn concludes, and a thousand bored ghosts are going to drag him down to join their ranks. For a minute he thought the people in the weird robes might do something cool and wizardly, but it was just more speeches. 

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and Robin squeezes his hand. It’s time for Connor’s speech as valedictorian, an ancient Latin term for “king of the nerds.”

Connor takes his place on the stage, raises the mic stand and gazes at the crowd for a moment. He waits, perfectly still, until everyone settles down and all eyes are on him. Looks like somebody picked up some showmanship from his time around the trio, Glenn thinks with satisfaction. At last, Connor speaks. 

“In my younger and more vulnerable years, my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had.”

Glenn feels a quiver from beside him and glances over. Robin’s already on the verge of tears. Robin sees Glenn looking at him and whispers, “Gatsby.” Okay then, Glenn thinks. Gatsby to you, too.

Glenn didn’t go to his own high school graduation and sure as hell doesn’t plan to pay attention to this one. He lets his eyes unfocus and starts wondering about why the ninja turtles bothered to wear masks. Then he senses a quiver from Nick on his other side. Surprised, he turns to see if the kid’s truly getting emotional over this. When he looks over at Nick, though, he immediately recognizes the signs of a severe case of giggles. Nick is pressing a tightly clenched fist to his mouth and trying to take deep breaths. Glenn leans in. _“What?”_

Nick shakes his head and gestures toward the stage. Connor’s just saying something about a book. “Daisy is his dream queen, a romping goddess who believes that she’s God’s gift.” 

Nick raises his eyebrows at Glenn and Glenn suddenly clicks into why the phrasing is slightly odd but the words are very familiar. Connor has packed his entire speech with strain names and weed slang, and has balanced it just right so that most of the administrators sitting on stage behind him are completely oblivious. One is turning red, but apparently is unwilling to cause a scene. Excellent. This is much more fun than Glenn expected. 

“Gatsby gazes into that starry night. The endless sky is above him and the black water below. He contemplates the void on the distant shoreline—“

Glenn is catching the giggles now too, as are a handful of others in the audience. He presses his lips together tightly. 

“—a chronic longing for the northern light, which is his green dream and his green monster at once—“

Nick has fully bent in half now, his head between his knees as his body shakes with silent laughter. Glenn thinks he’s got himself under control, but then he sees Nick losing it and he snorts. His snort sets off a sound from Penny on Nick’s other side, which she tries to turn into a demure cough.

“— for us to grow from young buds into beautiful flowers, to face our heady futures with tranquility and euphoria,” Connor says. Glenn covers his face with his hands and tries to think about serious shit, but fails. He bites his tongue to hold the laughter in. 

“Tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… And one fine morning, we will embark on that odyssey of life with all the flourish and grand hustle we have learned here. And with the truth at our side, I believe we will find a remedy in the green haze.” Connor surveys the crowd straight-faced, then gives a satisfied nod. “Thank you.”

The crowd applauds and Glenn wheezes helplessly, bent forward to hide his face. He feels a reassuring hand rubbing his back. “I’m so proud of him,” he manages to gasp. “That’s my boy.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” Robin sounds shaky too, and he’s clearly been just weeping openly through the whole thing. The lights have come up for intermission. “Should we step out in the hall?”

“Oh, hells yes,” Glenn says reflexively. The second he says it, he realizes he’s blown his cover. Robin’s eyes narrow and he looks suspiciously at Glenn, then at Nick, who’s done a better job of putting on a straight face. Penny has chosen to gaze off into the middle distance like she’s thinking of something serious and important. If her lips weren’t pressed so tightly together, she’d look totally normal. 

“It was very touching, Mr. Wright,” Nick says politely. “I think we should all go collect ourselves quietly. Maybe get a drink of water.”

Damn, this kid is clutch, Glenn thinks. All dropping the “mister” strategically. On his own, Glenn would definitely be busted right now, but Nick - because he is the best son Glenn could have envisioned - has scoped out how to use this leverage to get them out of trouble _and_ out of this boring event. There’s no way Robin’s gonna push back in front of Nick and Penny. 

Robin looks dubious, but nods and gets up so they can leave. As they pass through the lobby, Glenn hiccups suddenly, which then sends Nick into a giggle fit, and suddenly all the suppressed laughter returns full force and they fall into hysterics. 

Robin watches with bewilderment. “Could somebody tell me what’s going on?”

Glenn waves a hand weakly at him to indicate he can’t speak just yet.

“Dad, no,” Nick wheezes. “Don’t narc on Connor.”

Robin rubs his face with his hands. “Oh. I see. I mean, I think I see. You might have to explain the specifics later.” 

“We’ll tell you when you’re older,” Penny says reassuringly.

Glenn’s calming down a little now, wiping his eyes. “I’m a terrible influence,” he says, more factually than apologetically. 

Robin considers this, then shrugs fatalistically. “He is valedictorian, you know. I guess we did okay.” Penny pats his arm. 

The valedictorian in question shows up then, still in his cap and gown. Connor hugs his parents, does his custom handshakes with Glenn and Nick. Penny’s regained her composure at this point and has pulled out her phone. “Come on, let’s get pictures before everybody else shows up.” 

She snaps a few of Connor and Robin, has Glenn get a few of all the Wrights together. Then she steps back and motions Glenn and Nick toward Robin and Connor. “All the boys together, come on.” 

They shuffle around according to her orders until nobody’s in anybody’s way. Nick and Glenn are standing close enough together that Glenn starts pinching Nick behind his back each time the flash is about to go off. “Nick, you keep blinking,” Penny says, and Glenn snickers. He feels Robin’s hand sneak down and grab his very tightly. Busted.

Penny takes way too many pics and everybody’s getting antsy before she finally relents. Before they head their separate ways, she and Glenn trade numbers so she can send him the photos. 

She winks at him. “We’ll touch base soon, Robin can’t hide you from me now.” 

Robin tries to protest this, but Glenn decides to help Penny gang up on him. “Yeah, man, what gives? You’re afraid we won’t get along?”

“I’m afraid of the exact opposite,” Robin groans, looking at their grinning faces. 

“You should be,” Penny says. “I have pictures of your haircut from 2002.” 

“Penny, no,” Robin begs. 

“Penny. _Yes.”_ Glenn says.

**_Robin_ **

The end of the school year is always a relentless barrage of events, and it’s twice as bad now with both the boys. When Robin asked Nick if he wanted them to go to his eighth grade commencement ceremony, the kid just made a jerkoff gesture and rolled his eyes. He did want them to come to the school band concert, though, so now Robin and Nick are waiting at the Close home. Glenn’s supposed to be driving back from a gig this evening, but he hasn’t arrived yet. It’s making Robin nervous. He knows Glenn wouldn’t miss this for the world, but he also knows by now that musicians don’t exactly get to clock off and head home at the end of a shift. If there are equipment problems, or difficulties getting paid, things can take a lot longer than anticipated. 

Nick has his drumsticks out and is drumming on the kitchen table as he waits. He’s inherited his dad’s knack of making clothes work, so even the mandatory white shirt and black pants look fairly stylish. The shoes he’s chosen technically meet the requirement of black dress shoes, although to Robin they look very… spiky. The look is missing something, though. “Kiddo, are you supposed to have a tie with that?”

Nick stops drumming for a minute and gives Robin a thoughtful look. “Do you know how to tie a bow tie?”

“Sure,” Robin replies immediately, eager to impress. Nick runs down the hall to his room, giving Robin about three minutes to frantically search “how to tie a bow tie” on his phone. He wasn’t exactly lying, but it’s been a while. 

Nick returns with a red tartan bow tie and stands expectantly in front of Robin. Robin helps him adjust the length and arrange the tie around his collar. “This side longer than the other,” he explains. ”Cross them over, bring it up through the loop...” He has to back up and re-do a few steps, but in a reasonable amount of time they’ve accomplished an acceptably symmetrical and sharp bow.

Nick examines the completed look in his phone’s camera, adjusts the tie by half an inch, and nods in satisfaction. He looks at Robin and looks at the clock. “We have five minutes? Stay there. I’m making you look too basic by contrast.” 

Robin looks down at his white dress shirt and gray slacks. Basic is fair, but Nick said it like it was bad, so he’s waiting to see what happens next.

Nick returns from the hall with an unusually sedate specimen from Glenn’s extensive scarf collection, a gray plaid with thin stripes of red and black. He gestures for Robin to sit down so he can reach, and drapes the scarf around his neck carefully, frowns, fusses with it a bit more. “That’s better. Don’t touch it.”

They both look at the clock. It’s time to go, but Robin is reluctant to leave without Glenn. “I’m sure your dad is doing his best to get here,” he says hesitantly.

Nick seems pretty relaxed and has gone back to drumming on the table. “When it’s important, he makes it happen. Don’t worry so much, Robin.” Robin’s still unpacking that statement when the door rattles and Glenn finally arrives. 

He sizes them up. “My boys are killing it today,” he declares. “Nicholas, looking fresh to death, extremely pop punk. Robin, don’t think I don’t know that’s my scarf. But it looks damn good on you, so I’ll allow it.” He gestures toward the hall. “Let’s move, fellas, you want to make us late?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date night = another chapter where we earn that M rating. Mature content in this chapter.

**_Glenn_ **

It’s the Saturday after the band concert, and Nick has voluntarily exiled himself to the Wilson’s house for a sleepover so Robin and Glenn can have date night. All four of them are up in each other’s lives and homes pretty much full time at this point, but fortunately Nick’s cool enough (and embarrassed enough if he walks in on them kissing in the kitchen) to clear out from time to time.

They’ve been out to a fancy cocktail bar, because Robin insists that hard liquor is not just for shots. A while back, he caught Glenn drinking limoncello straight from the bottle and extracted a promise that Glenn would try some mixed drinks. Admittedly, the actual finished results taste pretty good. Sitting around for ten minutes watching somebody do party tricks with a scrap of grapefruit peel and a match, that’s what loses Glenn. That, and the endless talk about aromatics and reactions and shit. He’ll drink them, but he’s not gonna be assigned some chemistry homework on the side. He only had to slam one old-fashioned like a shot (artisanal cherry, orange peel twist, and all) before Robin got the message on that one and let him enjoy his drinks with his mouth instead of his brain. 

Now, with a few expensive drinks each in their systems and the ride home for them to relax, they’ve cycled back around to arguing about the ghost tour they did earlier in the evening. Robin seems to think it was a fun way to learn some obscure history, which Glenn would (and does) argue is beside the fucking point. A ghost tour in which not a single ghost had enough undead guts to make an appearance? Psh. 

They let the argument die off as they go upstairs together, since it’s the kind of discussion where the fun is in having it, not winning it. As they head down the hallway, Robin grabs Glenn’s arm and pulls him into a kiss. It’s a good kiss - they all are - and when Robin pulls away, he’s wearing his usual ridiculously fond expression. “God, I’m so lucky.” 

Glenn rolls his eyes and Robin’s hand immediately goes to cup Glenn’s cheek. “What was that?” he demands, searching Glenn’s eyes intensely. “You don’t believe me?” Robin seems frustrated. “You brag on yourself all the time, but you deflect when I say nice things about you.” 

Glenn tries to explain, but he’s aware it doesn’t totally make sense. “When I brag, it’s like… everybody knows that _I_ know it’s probably at least a little bullshit, right? I’m in on the joke. When you say this stuff, it sounds like you mean it.”

“I do, one hundred percent.”

 _Yeah, that’s the problem._ But Glenn just shrugs. “Never been great at accepting genuine compliments, I guess.”

Robin presses his forehead against Glenn’s. “I’d like it if you’d try. For me.”

Now, that’s an unusually direct ask from Robin. They’re not like Henry and Darryl; while they playfully bicker all the time, they don’t tend to strongly disagree on much. From the outside, it probably looks like Glenn gets his way all the time, which isn’t fair. He’s just very good at knowing when Robin actually cares and when he doesn’t. 

Right now? He does. There’s a certain timbre in his voice, a slightly more deliberate way of speaking, that makes Glenn’s ears prick up. Combined with the pressure of the strong arms around him, he can tell Robin’s inviting him into a certain dynamic that’s proven to be pretty fun so far. Yes, please.

Despite Glenn’s initial expectations, Robin’s particular BDSM _thing_ is much more BD than SM. Unfortunately, so far Robin’s not comfortable raising a hand to him even if it’s in a sexy and consensual way. (“Please just slap my ass hard.” “But I’ll feel so _bad_.”) Fortunately, that doesn’t mean Robin won’t get dominant on demand. 

Glenn leans into Robin, seeing his bid and raising it. “I don’t know,” he says, low and quiet. “What’ll you give me if I do?”

Robin wraps his hands around Glenn’s upper arms and backs him up against the wall. Glenn’s heart is racing as Robin leans in close. “If you’ll let me take care of you properly, then we’ll see.” 

Glenn opens his mouth to sass back, but he’s cut off by Robin’s fingers pressing against his lips. “I mean it.”

Glenn makes eye contact, takes a deep breath, and nods. For that, Robin removes his fingers and kisses Glenn hard instead. The back of Glenn’s head is still against the wall and so he simply opens his mouth and lets Robin in. After a few passionate moments, Robin hooks one arm around Glenn’s waist and the other under his thigh, lifting him so his legs can wrap around Robin’s waist and only Robin’s body pinning him to the wall is holding him up. 

They grind together like this, needing each other’s touch. Glenn’s thighs are clamped against Robin’s body. Robin’s hips are hard between his legs and his lips and tongue are hungry on Glenn’s mouth and his throat. When Glenn’s whimpers start to become cries of pleasure, Robin backs up, taking Glenn’s weight fully onto himself and carrying him - still passionately kissing him - to his home. 

Robin pins him once more, against the door this time, and fumbles for the key Glenn gave him. Fumbles some more. “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters, then lifts Glenn still higher so he can sling him over one shoulder and free up his other hand to actually unlock the door. Glenn’s folded over Robin’s shoulder, his arms and legs dangling awkwardly. “You could put down instead of carrying me like a sack of potatoes.”

“Potatoes would be quieter,” Robin mutters as he finally gets the door unlocked. “No mouths—“ 

“—just eyes,” Glenn finishes for him. “Fuck right off.”

Robin pats him on the ass affectionately as he carries him inside and closes the door behind him. He walks easily through the apartment and straight into to Glenn’s bedroom. Instead of putting Glenn down on the bed, he pulls him off his shoulder and lets Glenn slide down the length of his body. They end up standing facing each other, and Robin draws him into a deep kiss. Glenn can’t resist reaching for Robin’s belt, but Robin catches his wrist in a firm grip. “Not right now. I don’t want you to be distracted.”

Glenn opens his mouth, lets his lips drag against the rough stubble on Robin’s jaw. “I’m already very distracted.”

Robin uses his grip on Glenn’s wrist to force him down to sit back onto the bed. Glenn pushes back so that Robin’s fingertips dig in tight to the tender flesh of Glenn’s inner arm, small focal points of pressure and pain that feel amazing and make him draw in his breath with a hiss. Maybe Robin won’t deliberately hurt him (yet?), but he’ll willingly serve as the immovable object against which Glenn can resist just enough to get his nerves singing. It’s an effective compromise they’ve worked out, and it means Glenn lands on the bed with bruises forming on his inner arm and a moan on his lips.

“Are you going to let me be good to you?” Robin asks, maintaining his grip with one hand but using the other to cup Glenn’s cheek and jaw. In answer, Glenn turns toward the hand and takes one of those long, strong fingers into his mouth, resting his teeth lightly against the skin and running his tongue along the bottom side. Robin won’t even give him that much, and pulls his hand back. “No. Earn it.”

Glenn is sitting on the edge of the bed and Robin moves up to stand between his legs. He lifts Glenn’s wrist up to brush his lips tenderly along the newly sore points on the soft skin. “God, just look at you,” he murmurs. “What did I do to deserve you?”

When Glenn won’t meet his eyes, Robin’s hand snakes around rapidly to the back of Glenn’s head. Robin catches him by the hair, pulling his head back sharply and eliciting a groan. He kisses Glenn roughly, capturing Glenn’s bottom lip in his teeth for a quick nip. “I love kissing you,” he says hoarsely. “I love the taste of you.” 

Glenn’s mouth is seeking Robin’s again, but Robin is already pressing his lips to Glenn’s throat and letting his teeth graze against the sensitive skin as he explores. His hands release Glenn and he uses one finger to pull down the collar of Glenn’s shirt. “I love your collarbone,” he says reverently, and licks along its curve with a slow drag of his tongue. Robin’s hands slide under Glenn’s shirt and strip it off him quickly, tossing it to one side. The cool air of the room on his bare skin contrasts with the heat of Robin’s mouth on his shoulder, his chest, his stomach. Robin punctuates each word with a worshipful kiss on some new part of Glenn’s body. “I’m. So. Fucking. Lucky.”

It’s the same words as earlier, but this time, Glenn tries to let that immediate deflection instinct pass. Robin continues to talk as he strokes his hand gently over the front of Glenn’s pants, causing him to arch up into the light touch. “Just like that. Let me take care of you.”

It’s odd how Glenn finds that uncomfortable. It’s probably residual distrust from sleeping with people who only cared what worked for him if it helped them get off. Glenn manages to put words to his discomfort, although he knows as he’s saying them that they’re not quite right. “Feels selfish.”

“Selfish?” Robin echoes doubtfully. He kneels down to start removing Glenn’s shoes and socks for him, a surprisingly intimate gesture. He rests his hands on Glenn’s thighs, looking up to search Glenn’s face. “Even it’s what I want to be doing?” Glenn isn’t sure how to answer that. Robin shakes his head. “I want you so much, sweetheart. You're so very wanted, you don’t have to be…” He searches for the right word. “You don’t have to be _useful_ all the time.”

The idea makes Glenn laugh, but he knows what Robin’s talking about; a neediness, a fear that nobody wants him for himself, only what he can do for them. He’s certainly not doing much now as Robin helps him out of his remaining clothes. It’s strange to be fully undressed while Robin hasn’t taken off a single item. Robin pulls Glenn upright for a moment and trades places with him, sitting on the bed and drawing Glenn down into his lap, his back tight to Robin’s chest. Robin’s fingers interlace with Glenn’s as he takes Glenn’s earlobe gently between his teeth. 

“I want to see you touch yourself,” Robin says in a low voice. He takes Glenn’s hand in his own and puts a few drops of slippery liquid into Glenn’s palm. The bottle must have been in Robin’s pocket, and when he senses Glenn’s surprise, he chuckles. “Listen. When I’ve got you alone, it’s not a question of _if_ but _when_. I’d rather not have to call a time-out.”

“So you just stay ready,” Glenn murmurs as he begins to work his hand over himself.

“Well, I was a boy scout. Be prepared and so forth.” Robin says with a slight grin. He moves his own newly-slick hand down between Glenn’s legs, making him shudder in anticipation.

“Fuck, of course you were a boy scout,” Glenn groans. Robin slides two fingers inside and begins to twist and curl them in a way that sends sparks across the backs of Glenn’s eyeballs. He closes his eyes and leans back onto Robin’s supportive body, almost cradled in his hold.

“Open your eyes,” Robin says softly from behind him. Glenn does so, and sees what Robin’s looking at - the mirror next to the bed, where their bodies are reflected, outlined in the dark by the light from the street lamps outside. In the low light, they look like people he doesn’t know for a moment. Then recognition kicks in and he’s suddenly self-conscious and feels like he should say something, anything. Apologize for not being twenty years old anymore. Demand they draw the curtains and fuck in the dark. Offer to do something so filthy that Robin won’t be able to resist throwing him down and losing himself in Glenn’s body. The distraction has left him forgetting to move his hand, and Robin stops what he’s doing as well. “What’s going on?” 

Glenn shakes his head, frustrated. “Just… can’t shut up and let myself enjoy things tonight.”

Robin hums thoughtfully. “It’s different for you this way, I know.” He touches his lips gently just under Glenn’s ear. “You want to stop?”

“I want...” Glenn considers. He sighs and slumps back onto Robin’s strong frame. “I want to let go of the bullshit for a change.” 

“Can I help?” Robin strokes his fingertips gently along Glenn’s jawline and Glenn follows them hungrily with his mouth. He brushes his lips against Robin’s hand hopefully, and Robin relents and lets him take two fingers deep into his mouth to suck and nibble. The rest of Robin’s hand curls around Glenn’s mouth and jaw. “This helps?” he asks. Glenn nods.

Robin pulls his hand away for a moment, drawing a protesting groan from Glenn. He unbuckles his watch from his wrist and presses it into Glenn’s free hand. It’s a heavy, vintage metal piece and still feels warm from his body heat. “Safe sign. If you need to stop, you’ll drop it?” He waits to get a response from Glenn before moving forward. Glenn nods, his heart rate speeding up already. 

Robin wraps his arm around Glenn’s shoulder and chest, pinning his arm tight to his side. He slips his free hand tightly over Glenn’s mouth, his fingers below working deep inside again. The dual points of control have Glenn unraveling almost instantly, and he works his own hand faster in response. Without being able to breathe through his mouth, the ragged inhalations of his breath sound faster, needier.

Robin uses the pressure on Glenn’s jaw to tip his head back, exposing his throat to a series of sharp kisses. His fingers are working deep inside Glenn now at a faster pace, keeping up with what Glenn’s hand is doing. Glenn moans and a surge of arousal sweeps through him as he hears his own broken sounds being swallowed up by Robin’s firm hand. His hips buck and he stops trying to hold back, letting out muffled cries with every breath.

He’s almost over the edge when Robin speaks low and close. _“Sweetheart. Look.”_

He opens his eyes, and maybe it’s that the lower half of his face is covered, but in that moment the person in the mirror is a stranger again. He thinks he sees what Robin sees, and that person looks… good. He looks shameless, blissful, lost to the sensations he’s experiencing. His eyes dark with lust, his hand working fast and relentless over himself. The man with him is intent simply on pleasing him. 

“You see?” Robin whispers from behind him. “So beautiful.” 

Glenn’s hips jerk, his eyes roll back, the metal edges of Robin’s watchband bite into his skin as his hand clenches around it. The sounds he makes as he comes are muffled in Robin’s palm. Robin holds him tight as he rides out the waves, whispering soothing words and gentle praise. 

Finally he pulls his hand away and Glenn takes a gasping, ragged breath. He’s trembling, his senses still heightened and overwhelmed. Robin catches him around the waist and lowers him gently to the bed, lying down close alongside him and tracing light circles on his arm. 

“Wow,” Glenn finally manages, once his brain agrees to produce words again. “That was different. What do you call that?”

Robin bends to his throat and nips it with a sharp pinch. Despite his fatigue, Glenn feels his body rouse and respond again. Robin feels it too, and chuckles low. “I call it a good start.”

Much later, they’ve finally decided to give into their bodies’ other demands and get some sleep. Glenn returns to the bedroom with his glass of water, wearing one of Robin’s pajama shirts that he’s collected through cunning theft. The whole pajama concept is still pretty silly, but the silk feels nice and it usually means Robin ends up sleeping shirtless, which is a bonus. The only downside is when Connor first saw Glenn walking around the apartment in boxers and an (admittedly slightly oversized) pajama shirt and said he looked like a Victorian ghost child. He’s still working on a revenge plan for that particular remark.

Even with the low light in the room, he can see that Robin’s skin is scattered with scratches and love bites. Definitely going to need to lend him a scarf tomorrow, but it’s worth it. He slides under the blankets and nudges his bare toes into the curve of Robin’s calf. “Cold,” Robin mumbles, mostly asleep already. “Quit.” But he rolls over and tucks Glenn in close to his body anyway, his hand rubbing absent circles on Glenn’s back until they both drift off to sleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**_Glenn_ **

It’s Friday, which means dinner at the Close household. The invitation extended to Connor gets politely declined in favor of a kickass party, and Glenn gives him tips the entire walk to the car. Sure, the tips might be a little out of date, but Connor can’t deny that Glenn Close knows how to get down and dirty. If he’s gonna miss Glenn’s carbonara, he at least should get laid to make up for it.

Not long after dinner starts getting made, Glenn has to yell at Robin to sit his ass down in the living room while he preps dinner—he’s just trying to help, Glenn knows this, but right then, he’s a roadblock that is making everything increasingly difficult. Nick, forever Glenn’s sidekick, makes fun of Robin while he sulks. They talk about math or something. Glenn’s too busy chopping pancetta to figure out why.

With Robin adequately humbled, Nick turns to goading Glenn throughout the meal. His own flesh and blood comes for one of the most sacred things a man has—his Smash record.

“Look,” Nick says with a jab of his fork, “all I’m saying is that I’ve been getting some good hours in as Kirby, and you have no shot against me.”

“Bull _shit_ ,” Glenn says, and pointedly ignores the look Robin gives him.

“I’m not kidding! Do I have to call Connor? He’s my main witness. I’ll call him to the stand.”

“Don’t bother Connor,” Robin chimes in, and Glenn waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, he’s out there gettin’ some major action, man.”

“And don’t talk about Connor like that,” Robin adds.

It’s the truth, and Robin fucking knows it. “You’re on, kid. Winner gets movie rights.”

So, they end up watching _The Room_. Again. A masterpiece of modern cult cinema. If Glenn was ever inclined to make one of those video essays he loves, he could talk about Tommy Wiseau’s weird perversion of reality in a twelve part series, at least. And as per usual, Nick ends up slumped around the time the football starts getting tossed around. 

The kid (which, again, his own _flesh and blood)_ finds solace in Robin’s mutual lack of interest, and has the audacity to fall asleep, his back against Robin’s side, feet halfway in Glenn’s lap, Robin’s arm slung lazily over his chest. There Glenn was, thinking he raised his son _right_ , and the little bastard betrayed him for another dad. Incredible.

Finally, Glenn shakes Nick’s leg to wake him up. “I promise it’s over.”

Nick sits up and stretches, and Robin takes the opportunity to get up and delegate himself to dish duty. Fuck yes. No dishes for Glenn tonight. He has all the fun and none of the boring consequences—exactly the way he likes it.

“C’mon, go change, I’ll meet you in there.”

Nick, ever the elegant child, rolls off the couch and lands on the floor with a thud that startles Robin in the kitchen.

“This doesn’t work anymore,” Glenn mutters, poking Nick’s side with his foot. Nick just grunts in response.

“I live here now.” Nick’s voice is muffled by the rug.

Glenn gets up to walk away, but Robin is giving him a look that says “no, you can’t let your son sleep on the floor, idiot.” Easy for Robin to judge, he’s not the one who has to do the heavy lifting here.

“This might’ve worked when you were a toddler,” Glenn starts, circling around Nick’s body, “but you’re thirteen.”

Nick says nothing. Glenn knows what he has to do, and he’s kind of dreading it. He almost regrets teaching Nick how to ragdoll so effectively (long story), and after a solid thirty seconds of maneuvering and stifled laughter from Nick and Robin, he gets Nick in his arms bridal-style.

“You owe me for this,” he grumbles as he lugs the kid to his bedroom. Nick’s tongue lolls out of his mouth. Damn. He’s pretty good. His dad taught him well.

As Glenn gears himself up to chuck Nick onto his bed, suddenly his deceased child springs back to life.

“If you throw me, I’ll destroy you.”

Nick looks so serious, Glenn can’t help himself. He smiles at his son and pretends to drop him, and Nick squeaks so loud Glenn’s pretty sure it echoes. He sets Nick down and Nick tries to grapple with him, getting a hand on the back of his neck and yanking his head down to trap him in a headlock. Luckily, Glenn has at least two decades of petty brawls on Nick, and slips out to return the noogie before he knows what hit him. The two of them laugh quietly. God, his son is cool.

“C’mon, get in there, before I beat your ass to sleep.” Glenn tugs at the blanket underneath Nick.

“I’m calling child services on you,” Nick chuckles, but tucks himself under the covers anyway, still sitting up.

“After all I’ve done for you?”

“You’ll never see me again, Dad. Fuck, wait, I mean. Glenn.”

Glenn shoves Nick’s head gently and Nick flops with it to lay down. Pro soccer player move, Glenn notes. Classic Nicholas.

Tugging the blanket up to Nick’s shoulders, Glenn presses a kiss to his hairline. “Love you, kid.”

“Love you too, fellow associate.”

He likes to think he’s done pretty well with Nick, all things considered. Glenn indulges himself in sitting there a few seconds and taking it all in. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a kid like Nick, but whatever it was, he’s god damn lucky to have done it. 

“Night.” Glenn pushes the hair off of Nick’s forehead and gets up, and he’s not sure when Robin appeared in the doorway, but it nearly scares the shit out of him.

Robin’s watching over Glenn’s shoulder as he walks out of the room, a fond smile on his face. “You can’t just do that,” Glenn whispers, pulling the door closed behind him, but it only gets halfway shut before Robin’s hooking a finger under his chin and kissing him gently.

When Glenn pulls back, Robin mumbles a half-hearted apology. He doesn’t mean it at all, Robin’s not a good liar, and he heads back to the kitchen without so much as another word. When Glenn turns toward the door to tug it closed all the way, he swears he catches a glimpse of Nick watching them before it closes. 

He doesn’t think much of it until the next morning, when all Nick says to him before Robin comes out of the bathroom is: “You two are cute as hell.”

**_Robin_ **

"Listen, I’m only going to do this once, but Connor and Nick ganged up on me."

Glenn is mid-sentence as he walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, where Robin is leaned on the counter, finishing his coffee over the open newspaper. This thing, of getting suddenly dropped into a conversation that Glenn’s been having by himself, has happened before. It’s normally more urgent (to Glenn at least) than important, but always interesting.

Glenn sits down in one of the bar chairs across from him, and takes a moment to collect himself.

"The boys ganged up on you? About what?"

Robin watches Glenn's face as he hesitates. He's obviously bouncing a knee under the counter, and Robin is naturally worried. This isn’t the excitement of a Glenn who’s found a new blurry Bigfoot video.

Glenn takes a deep breath. Robin watches as he fishes the thin chain from inside his shirt and pulls it over his head. As ever, there’s a worn guitar pick hanging from it. 

He meets Robin's eyes. "There's no way you haven't noticed the pick," he says, and twists at the silver band he wears on his left hand. “Or the ring, obviously.” 

Glenn looks down at the ring, at the guitar pick in his hand next to it, and smiles to himself. “The pick was hers,” he adds unnecessarily. 

Robin waits quietly, unwilling to interrupt and risk getting Glenn off track.

"It’s not me… pushing you away, or keeping you out, or whatever,” Glenn says. “But I need her around. I’m always going to miss her.”

“Of course you miss her,” Robin says quietly. “You love her. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

They share a silent moment, Robin reaching across to touch Glenn's hand. 

“I would never want you to lose her because of me. And if you ever, _ever,_ feel like I'm pushing you too fast or you need a break, please just talk to me. I’ll do my best.”

There’s another quiet beat as they stand together. He wants to keep his hand on Glenn’s, see if Glenn's going to let him in on emotions for a change, but suddenly Glenn slaps his hands on the counter and hops up. 

"Alright! What's for breakfast, big guy?"

"You're sure you don't want to talk more?"

"Nah, man, you got it in one," Glenn says, slapping Robin's ass as he walks past him to the cereal cabinet. “Do we have Frankenberry? Probably not in August, huh?”

Robin stares at him for a few more moments, making sure that he's not still upset or there's more he wants to say. Glenn might be impossible to read, but Robin's had quite a bit of practice by now. His necklace is back in place, and he’s humming under his breath, seemingly completely unscathed. So Robin decides not to press the point. 

He’d still rather stay close though, so… “We could make pancakes?” 

Glenn’s face lights up. “Dude, I make great pancakes.” 

It's not until later, when the two of them are in the living room together both doing their own thing, when he says anything else. Robin's very invested in the Sunday crossword, pen between his teeth as he thinks of a seven letter word for "monster of myth; foolish fancy." When he feels eyes on him he looks up, only to find Glenn watching him fondly.

”Am I humming again? Sorry."

Glenn rolls his eyes, still smiling. "She would have loved you."

Whatever witty remark Robin had prepared disappears from his lips. "I hope so."

Glenn jabs a pointed finger at him. "And I don't fucking say that lightly."

Robin smiles at Glenn, trying his damndest not to tear up. Glenn just leans back on the couch and pulls out his phone again. Emotional whiplash aside, Robin's heart is fluttering happily as he watches his mess of a boyfriend browse some social media site he doesn't understand.

"Can I ask about her?"

Glenn sets his phone down and lifts his head to glance at Robin. "What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you'd be willing to tell me."

Glenn pauses for a moment before sitting up and patting the couch next to him. "C'mere, let me tell you about how cool she was."

Robin sits down next to him. Cool. Glenn told his friends that Robin is cool. Despite Robin's best interests, he’s definitely going to overthink that at the earliest opportunity. The future is an uncertain place, and there’s a long road from where they are to... wherever else they might go. But then Glenn starts talking animatedly about how he met his wife, and Robin is certain of one thing - he never wants to stop hearing Glenn speak his mind.

**_Glenn_ **

Another decently successful gig down, and Glenn and Connor are loading equipment into the van together. Or, more precisely, Glenn is drinking a beer and watching Connor load the van. If the kid is gonna ditch them when college starts, he should work double time while he’s still around. Lost in his thoughts, Glenn realizes Connor is saying something to him just in time.

“My friend was asking about the arm candy Dad brought to graduation, what am I supposed to tell them about you? As regarding Dad?”

Glenn isn’t fond of this topic in general, and particularly isn’t sure about getting into it with Connor. “Uh… say I’m his side piece.”

“Fuck you, try again.” Connor replies mildly.

“I don’t know. You come up with something, nerd king.”

Connor’s hauling an amp and takes a minute to consider. “Hmm. My dad’s… court-ordered community service project.”

“Your dad’s best thing that ever happened to him, you little punk.”

“My dad’s… common-law opossum.”

Glenn simply flips the kid off as he finishes his beer. Succinct and iconic. Connor jumps down and slams the van doors shut. “Damn dude, what do I call _you_ now? Still Glenn?”

Glenn considers this. “My liege, I think.”

“Oh, he’s funny!” Connor says. “Good one, Weird Uncle Glem!”

“Autocorrect goes wrong one time, goddamn.” Glenn whips the empty can at him and Connor, obnoxiously, catches it easily. “I type fast, you little fuckhead.”

“I assume you mean duckhead, Glem.” 

They continue trading suggestions as they get into the front of the van, Connor behind the wheel.

“Future co-defendant,” Connor offers as they pull onto the road.

“Hostile witness.”

“Unknowing patsy.”

Glenn decides to go for the jugular. “Daddy, because it’ll gross you out every time you say it.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“And I’ll act super sad if you won’t do it, and you’ll have to either fall in line or explain to your dad why it’s gross.”

Connor’s hands clench tight on the wheel. “Fine, do that. I’ll start a family so young you’ll have kids calling you _grand_ daddy before you hit 40.”

Glenn chokes and collapses back against the seat as Connor accelerates. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the fuck, dude.”

“That’s right, you brought a knife to a gunfight, old man!” Connor crows. He’s glaring at Glenn, unblinking. “I’ll do it, I’m loco.”

“Just watch the road, dude, watch the road. Jesus. You win.”

“That’s right,” Connor gloats, finally turning his attention back to driving. “You come at the king, you best not miss.”

They ride in silence for a few minutes before Connor speaks up conversationally. “So, I think I’m gonna just keep calling you Glenn.”

“I think that’s for the best.”


	15. Chapter 15

**_Robin_ **

They’ve pulled up at the Oak-Garcia residence for a Labor Day weekend cookout. It’s a casual affair, but Robin feels like they’re walking into the lion’s den. Nick bolts out of the car as soon as it stops, eager to see his friends, but Robin rests his hand on Glenn’s arm before he can follow. “Remember to check in with yourself, okay? We can always leave if it’s too much. I know it’s a lot of people, and after last time...”

Glenn shrugs. “Having more people helps, actually. It’s like, Mercedes wasn’t there, Samantha wasn’t there, you weren’t there. I can hear the boys being rowdy as hell. Easier to remember where I am.”

Glenn pries up the cover to the watermelon salad they brought and picks out a piece with his fingers, pops it in his mouth, nods approvingly. “I’m fine. It’s gonna be a fun day.”

Robin is too relieved to tell him to get his hands out of the food, simply leans over and kisses him lightly. He tastes like watermelon and mint. 

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn brings Robin through the house and to the backyard, introducing him to people as they go. It’s going smoothly until they run into Mercedes in the kitchen and Glenn makes the introductions. Next to him, he feels Robin absolutely freeze up, and he has no idea why. Mercedes is stunning, for sure, but she’s also warm and sweet and about a foot shorter than Robin, so where’s the intimidation factor? 

Robin manages to stammer his way through the introductions, but as soon as they leave the kitchen and step out into the carport, he’s doing his nervous thing where he twists his hands up in the bottom of his shirt.

“That’s Mercedes _Oak-Garcia!”_ he hisses excitedly at Glenn. 

“Yeah,” Glenn says, still not comprehending. “That’s Mercedes.” 

“I listen to her every day at work,” Robin says in a reverent tone. “She has such a good voice, and she knows so much about music… Have you heard her do interviews? She’s a fantastic interviewer. Oof, and I didn’t know she looked like _that._ Why didn’t you tell me she’d be here? I mean, I guess this is her house, isn’t it?”

Robin trails off dreamily. He sees Glenn staring at him. He shrugs. “Okay, so I have a little celebrity crush.”

“I thought _I_ was your celebrity crush.” 

“Oh, come here.” Robin pulls him in close, threads his fingers through Glenn’s. “Is it the crush part or the celebrity part that’s bugging you? Is this like when we made the celebrity hall pass lists and you were mad until I put you on mine?”

“Nah, I was just trying to figure how the hell I’m so attracted to a gigantic nerd.”

Robin laughs. “I ask myself that all the time.” His smile drops a little. “I feel like your friends might wonder a little bit, too. Try not to wander off, I’m kind of nervous.”

“Of course,” Glenn replies. “But you shouldn’t be, they’re cool, I keep telling you.” He grabs Robin’s hand and starts them walking toward the backyard.

“And I’ve decided you don’t have to have me on your celebrity hall pass list, either,” Glenn says generously. “I’m feeling hella secure.” 

“Ooh, an empty slot. Can I put Mercedes on instead?”

“Absolutely not.”

**_Robin_ **

Robin finds himself standing around the yard with Ron and Darryl. They’re all holding beers in the traditional manner of dads at a summer cookout and making small talk. “So, Robin,” Ron says in his odd, deliberate manner. “Tell us how you and Glenn met.”

Robin mentally edits the truth into a story that hopefully won’t contradict whatever Glenn might say. “Oh, my son Connor’s done some chores for him over the years, we live on the same hallway… and then I asked him out.” 

He takes a sip of his beer while he tries to think of what to add. He feels like the most boring man alive, but any of the details he can think of are too intimate to share. Not just the physical stuff but… _and then we stayed up talking until we almost lost our voices_. Or, _and then he played his guitar for me and I burst into tears and it was so unexpected that I started laughing._ Nope. Too personal. Maybe there’s no easy way to explain him and Glenn. He’s still surprised by it himself.

“Pretty tame,” Ron says guilelessly. Darryl shoots him a look, which he completely misses. “Glenn hasn’t said very much about you, but I assumed you’d be like him but more so. A Glenn 2.0, if you will.”

Robin’s stomach twists. “Yeah, I’m not very rock and roll, sorry.” He searches for a follow-up and fails, but he does remember an escape strategy Glenn gave him on the ride over. “So, this beer is great,” he says brightly. 

Darryl’s face lights up and he starts eagerly explaining all the nuances of the flavor and how he achieved them. Robin nods along encouragingly, although he’s not picking up citrus notes and a hint of macadamia because it’s a beer and it tastes like a beer to him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees rapid movement. A pack of boys, Nick included, are racing along the edge of the pool. The deck is wet and Robin has visions of slipping feet and cracked skulls. He instinctively barks in concert with Darryl, “No running by the pool!” The boys stumble to a halt, then barrel off in a non-pool direction.

Robin grimaces as soon the words leave his mouth. He’s just brought out his dad-ass authority voice and used it on their kids as well as his own. Darryl had it under control, some dads get weird about that. “Sorry,” he says. “Reflex.”

For some reason, Darryl looks even more enchanted than when Robin had complimented his beer. “Don’t apologize, buddy,” he says warmly. “Structure and boundaries, right?” 

Robin’s just grateful for a positive response from any one of them. He clinks the neck of his beer against Darryl’s in a toast. Now all he has to do is spend the rest of his life keeping Darryl from finding out even a fraction of the stuff Connor gets up to. But that’s future Robin’s problem, for sure.

**_Glenn_ **

Glenn finds Henry and Mercedes chilling in the living room with a bottle of wine, as expected. They love having people over, but they usually wander off to enjoy each other’s company once the party’s in full swing. Glenn doesn’t feel bad about crashing, though. They can make a little room for him.

He flops down next to Mercedes on the couch and grabs the wine bottle. “So it turns out Robin has a gigantic nerd crush on you from your radio show, and I would take it as a personal favor if you used this information to fuck with him.”

Mercedes grins. “I’ll see what I can do.” She tries to hand Glenn a glass, but he waves it away and takes a drink straight from the bottle. It’s half-empty already, why make a glass dirty for nothing? 

Henry leans in eagerly. “He’s a fan of her show! Oh, that’s wonderful. I like him already. He has excellent taste.”

Glenn gestures to himself. “Clearly.” 

“How did you meet?” Henry asks. “I love hearing about how people met their partners.” He’s looking adoringly at Mercedes, because of course he is. He and Robin should start a club for tall nerds who love Mercedes. Connor can make the shirts.

Glenn suppresses his initial instinct to reply with _“What are you, a cop?”_ With that out of the way, though, he has to think through what he wants to tell them. 

With a twinge, he realizes he doesn’t remember the first time he technically met Robin. He’d just sort of been around for a while in the background. Then came the show, and their ride home together, and the fight, and what came after - all of which Robin wouldn’t want him telling the Oak-Garcias about. So he shrugs, takes another swig from the bottle and says, “His kid does errands for me, he lives down the hall. Asked me out a couple of months ago. Nothing too crazy.” 

“I figured you would like crazy,” Henry teases gently. “But down the hall, that’s sweet. What does he do?”

“Uh, road math,” Glenn says. He finishes the bottle and tries to think of the actual name. “An engineer, but not the railroad kind. The Department of Transportation? Is that anything?” 

Neither Henry nor Mercedes looks particularly illuminated by this, but seem to accept it as the answer they’ll be getting. He gets suddenly pissed at them for asking questions about Robin, and then the feeling passes just as quickly and leaves him tired. 

He knows exactly why he hates people asking questions about his partner. Some pain you just learn to live with and work around, and for years, he worked around that particular pain with a strategy of relentless avoidance. Don’t bring it up, change the subject, walk away, pick a fight. Once people start in with the questions, escape at all costs, because it’s gonna hurt.

No matter how enjoyable, a few months isn’t long enough to take down those walls. But he could see removing a couple more bricks today, for his friends.

He puts the bottle down and flops backward across their laps, throwing his legs over the arm of the couch. They’re used to how Glenn prefers to share couches, and he feels supported, quite literally. Mercedes is plush and comfortable, but Henry is too skinny to be a good head-rest for very long. 

“He still gets a paper newspaper, because he does the crosswords,” Glenn says to the ceiling and Henry’s upside-down face. He’s sorting through images and memories and scraps of feelings, figuring out what would be right to bring to them. “Great with Nick. Pretty good cook, although he follows recipes too much. Terrible taste in music.”

He searches a bit more. What does he really need them to know? What can he tell them so that they’ll get it? “Kind, patient, sweet. Worries too much. Good dad, cool kid. Unbelievably earnest sometimes. Takes good care of me. Loves me a lot.” 

First he says the last part without thinking. Then he hears what he just said, and then he realizes it’s true. He should probably do something about that pretty soon. Glenn laughs. “So yeah, that’s the basics. What else do you want to know?”

He hears a sniffle from Henry and rolls off their laps, standing up so he can look at the two of them. He points at Henry with accusatory force. “Don’t you dare cry, Henry. Party foul.” 

While Henry is wiping his eyes, Mercedes arches an eyebrow at Glenn questioningly, since apparently he left out at least one piece of information she’s interested in. God, that woman _gets_ him. He answers by tipping his head back and fanning himself with his hand. She grins and Glenn drops back into a neutral stance a second too late as Henry comes up for air. Henry looks at him, confused. “What?”

Glenn looks innocent. “What?” 

Mercedes hops up from the couch as well. “Let’s go see what he’s up to.” As they walk out, she asks, “You actually want me to mess with him?”

“More than anything.”

She links her arm with his. “Excellent. Tell me about this terrible taste in music.”

“One word, baby - ABBA.”

As it turns out, though, they don’t get far before Lark needs Mercedes for something and she disappears with promises to torment Robin later. Just as well, because Glenn’s lost track of Robin, and he doesn’t feel good about it. They keep missing each other at this party and that’s exactly the opposite of what Robin requested. 

Just when he’s about to give up, inspiration strikes and he checks the driveway. As he suspected, Robin has retreated to hide in the car with the windows down. It was a pretty safe refuge, given how sick of vehicle interiors Glenn still is, but not good enough. Glenn knocks on the hood lightly, making Robin jump, and then sits down in the passenger seat. 

Robin immediately is fully attentive and worried. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?” He takes Glenn’s hand in both of his to see if it’s shaking, but Glenn feels fine. Except for the part where Robin is hiding in the car, looking distressed. That part isn’t fine.

“I’m totally good. How are _you_ feeling?”

“I’m fine,” Robin says immediately.

“You can’t con a con. Be real with me, man.”

Robin thinks it over for a minute, and he sounds so worn-down when he finally speaks. “Awkward. Boring. Old.” 

Robin rests his forehead on the steering wheel, avoiding Glenn’s eyes. “Like I don’t make sense for you, and everybody can see it.” 

Glenn waits patiently. There’s more, he can tell.

Robin sighs. “Irrationally? That you’re embarrassed by me, and that’s why you don’t mention me to your friends.”

Glenn starts to protest that he does mention Robin, but tells himself to shut up for once. He knows what Robin’s talking about and playing dumb isn’t fair.

“Okay, first off, I keep things on the down low because my business is my business,” Glenn says. And for those other reasons, that they can get into another time. “But you’re right, and I’ll try to do better.”

“And listen—” He pulls at Robin’s shoulders to get him to sit up and look over. Robin meets his eyes reluctantly. 

“No, listen. Look at me. Of course I’m not embarrassed by you. I love you.”

“What?”

“Shut up, you heard me.” 

Robin laughs. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“Well?”

“Well, obviously,” Robin says. “I love you, did you just figure that out?” His expression softens as he looks at Glenn. “Of course I love you.”

He doesn’t have a chance to say more because Glenn’s kissing him fiercely. There’s a stupid center console and gear shift in the way and it’s awkward and ridiculous and it’s still so, so good. They simply need to be together, and so they reach for each other. The kisses that follow are interspersed with laughter and quiet words and a few tears.

As they continue to kiss, slow and sweet, there’s a noise from outside the car. Suddenly everything is cold and wet and horrible. Glenn looks around in a panic and sees Nick standing just outside the car. He’s holding an empty water bottle, having just thrown its entire contents through the open car window onto them. 

“If you can stop being gross for five minutes, Henry told me to tell you that dinner is ready.” 

Nick walks away without waiting for a response, muttering loudly enough for them to hear. “This is a family event. I am a _child.”_

Glenn turns to Robin, who looks tremendously sheepish but still tremendously happy. “Would you do me the great honor of helping me throw my son into the pool?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Robin responds. “Any time.”


End file.
